The Gathering
by WillieHewes
Summary: Rahab felt a familiar sense of despair gnawing on the edges of his soul. He thought of the many cracks of conflict that threatened their council. Raziel and him. Turel and Dumah. With every tear they mended, it seemed another one formed. [fin]
1. Messenger

  
  
THE GATHERING: I -- THE MESSENGER  
  
She walked carefully on the bridge. Careful not to slip, not to fall. There was no reason she would, but even this tiny stream could be deadly to her if she did. She was only a fledgling, a mere babe of a vampire. Even rain could destroy her, if she was caught outside. She had been walking since the last light drained from the sky, and already the pit of her stomach burned with that fire. The hunger.  
  
But this was no hunt. She was on an errand far more dangerous, and far more important than that. Under her bodice, pressed close against her chest was a leather folder, branded with the messenger's sigil. She had a letter to deliver. And if she failed, the cost would be higher than her unlife alone.  
  
She crouched at a low stone wall, and looked at the stronghold, dark and forbidding against the night sky. Braziers were fastened high up against the walls, illuminating the larger-than-life carvings of the clan symbol. Raziel. The enemy. At least, what she had been taught to think of as the enemy, in the short months since her awakening. The Razelim were powerful, and deadly. She had heard tales of their knights and captains. They were elegant as cats, and thrice as vicious.  
  
She had made it this far, but what she should do now she wasn't certain. Her letter, her mistress had stressed, must only be delivered to Lord Raziel himself. But how was she supposed to reach him? Just as she thought of the Razelim as the enemy, so surely they would recognise her as one. She was not afraid for her life, such as it was, but if this missive fell into the wrong hands, the cost would be unimaginable.  
  
There was nothing else to it, she would have to try and find a way in. The main gates were of course guarded. Silently, she moved around the side wall, looking for another way. At the back she found low stone buildings, apparently cells that were built half under the ground. That was her chance.  
  
Moving as quietly as she could, she crouched by the damp stone wall, and leapt up high. Grabbing on to the roof-edge, she swung herself up and, crouching, looked around again. The only light here spilled from small, barred windows in the wall of the keep. Slowly, she crept nearer to look inside. By the light of the torches on bare stone walls, she could see only the corner of an empty cell, iron shackles riveted to the wall. Someone, far away, moaned, and the hairs on the back of her head stood on end. She tried to determine where the sound was coming from, and noticed too late the shadows approaching her.  
  
A small sound attracted her attention, and she turned round, panic seizing her by the throat.  
  
"Well, well, what do we have here?" the smaller man said.  
  
"Does your mother know you're out this late at night?" He was tall, with black hair, his armoured shoulders broad and solid. The words stuck in her throat, nothing would come out. She could see their eyes shining in the dim glow from the window.  
  
The tall one reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, then let go suddenly as if burned by her. "Damn," he said, shocked. "She's no human."  
  
"Isn't she?" the other man asked, equally surprised. He grabbed hold of her and dragged her a few feet towards a door she had not even noticed yet. It burst open and he dragged her into the light. She struggled, but his three-fingered hands were strong as iron. She could not break free.  
  
"Is she one of ours?" the tall one asked from behind her. She could not see him, but looked around desperately for an option, an escape.  
  
"Doesn't seem to be. Whose are you, Melchiah's?"  
  
"No, Rahab," she answered, without thinking, and immediately realised her mistake.  
  
"A spy then." The next moment, she was flying through the air, and rolling down the stone steps. She tried to shield her face, but still landed bruised all over at the bottom, and before she could scramble up they were upon her. The smaller man was red-haired, his face was handsome and smooth. Cruel laughter filled her ears as he dragged her to a wooden table, and pinned her right hand down on it. She was forced to her knees.  
  
"Let's play a little game, spy. If you win, we let you go. If not, we get to watch you burn." She screamed. She tried to fight. She tried to think, work out a way to escape, but she was mesmerised: she couldn't look at anything but her own fist. He held it pinned to the table with one hand while drawing a slender knife with the other.  
  
She screamed again as he cut four deep lines into the back of her hand, and she fought to get free. She might as well have tried to push over a mountain. His clawed hand was immovable. He carved a cross in one corner of the square. Tears ran down her face.  
  
"Your move, dear. Where should it go? Come on, be a sport," his mocking voice continued calmly. She had to escape, she had to get away...  
  
"There," the other man indicated the middle of the square, and her hand was impaled by the knife. She heard herself howl, and, in her pain, she found herself thinking of Lord Raziel. He knew her mistress. If she could just find him somehow, he would stop this. He would make them stop. Another cross in the corner. She looked through her tears at the bloodied mess of her hand, and knew the game they were playing. She also knew that she had already lost. The letter, as long as they didn't find the letter...  
  
With two more stabs through her hand into the table, the game was over. With a self-satisfied smile, the red-headed man drew a line through his three crosses, and licked the blood from her hand. Immediately, he made a face. "Ugh, Rahabim."  
  
She curled up on the floor, whimpering, cradling her hand. She had no thoughts of escape anymore. Her mind blankly registered their cruel jokes.  
  
"I always thought of them as rather tasty actually. Their blood has a certain... tang to it."  
  
"No, way too salty."  
  
"It's better than Melchahim."  
  
"Well, she's yours if you want her..."  
  
It occurred to her that perhaps they seriously meant to drain her dry. She wished they would at least burn her as well. The letter should not be found. Her mistress had said so clearly, in the wrong hands...  
  
She was dragged up from the floor, and flung backwards over the table. She looked up into the tall one's glittering green eyes as he leaned over her. He grinned, hungrily, his fangs long and flawless. With a single, violent rip he tore open her bodice.  
  
An earth-shaking curse tore from his lips and he pulled out the leather folder.  
  
"She's an official messenger!" he shouted, and showed the letter to his friend.  
  
There was a moment of silence as she tried to cover her breasts again, and then she realised the men were staring at her.  
  
"You're a messenger," the redhead queried, pointing at the symbol branded into the leather. She nodded. "Who's this letter to?" he asked.  
  
"Raziel," she gasped.  
  
"Lord Raziel," he repeated. She nodded. "Himself." She nodded. He threw his hands into the air. "Kain's blood! Why didn't you say so?"  
  
"I..." She reached for the letter. "Only he must see it." Her voice was weak and trembling, but she was given the letter back. She clutched it to her chest.  
  
"Yes, we'll take you to him, just..."  
  
She didn't hear the rest. Faint with relief, she slumped to the floor. 


	2. Kemuel

THE GATHERING: II --KEMUEL  
  
Kemuel stared at the ashen-faced girl lying motionless on the ground. That folder bore the messenger's brand, unmistakably. He pulled on his hair in frustration. What a dreadful mistake! He turned at Borah. "Do something!" he hissed. Borah stammered an apology. "She's hungry, you imbecile, can't you see?"  
  
Borah quickly retreated to get some blood, mumbling "how could I know," in his low monotone voice.  
  
"Well, look at her," Kemuel yelled after him, his voice high with desperation, "she can't be over a night old!"  
  
"Bree months," the girl's lips bubbled. Kemuel began to laugh.  
  
"Three months. Oh, that's wonderful. Three months and they send you off with a message to Lord Raziel? All saints on a stick, is this a joke?" Borah returned with a jug. Kemuel poured the blood, freshly drawn apparently, into an earthen cup and pulled the girl up straight so he could feed it to her. She took the cup greedily and drained it. Then she held it out for a refill, without even wiping her mouth.  
  
.  
  
As Kemuel poured her a second cup, he began to lecture her, a cold cynicism in his voice. "Just so you know for the future, it is customary for messengers to bear that sign where people can see it. High up in the air, usually." She nodded fearfully, looking at him from over her cup. "And while we're discussing customs, we generally take the front gate to get inside this place."  
  
"Yes, my lord," she answered meekly, looking down into her empty cup. Kemuel refilled it for her, then stood up, putting the jug on the table.  
  
"Borah, take her..." He ran a hand through his short red hair, trying to work out what to do first. "Let her wash... no, how much haste is needed?" He turned to the girl again.  
  
"It must be delivered immediately," she said breathlessly. Now that she didn't fear for her life anymore, the importance of her mission seemed to return to her.  
  
"Right, she'll just have to come like this then. Follow me." He strode off towards the steps. "Borah!" he called behind him, and Borah dragged the girl to her feet and made her follow.  
  
.  
  
In the hallway leading to the Lord's chambers they met Adoile, the stunning young vampire who currently fulfilled the role of the Lord's personal servant.  
  
"Adoile, is the Master in?" Kemuel demanded.  
  
"In his private library --"  
  
"There is a messenger carrying a most urgent letter," he interrupted. She nodded, surprised, and indicated the door. He opened it and hastily crossed the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. With some trepidation, he knocked on the library door. Adoile nodded at him to go in, so he did.  
  
Lord Raziel looked up from his book, a small volume bound in leather. He was lounging on a low seat, but got to his feet immediately to greet his visitor. His movements were without haste, yet swift; he carried himself with the effortless grace of true nobility.  
  
"Kemuel," he said, his tone at once calm and alert.  
  
"My Lord." Kemuel bowed hastily. "A messenger, hailing from the clan of Rahab. The matter is... rather pressing."  
  
He gestured behind him and Borah led the girl into the room. She looked frightened, disheveled, still trying to keep her bodice together with one hand, while the other clutched the letter. Although the cuts had healed, the dried blood on the back of her hand still witnessed her mistreatment.  
  
"My Lord." She curtsied deeply. "My mistress Demera hails you. She told me to show this to you only." Bowing her head, she held out the letter.  
  
Without taking a step closer, Lord Raziel raised his hand and made the letter fly towards him. He caught it and opened it in one smooth gesture. The girl messenger stared at him with undisguised admiration. In fact, her mouth was hanging open. Kemuel smiled. His Lord often had that effect on people, especially if they were female.  
  
.  
  
Lord Raziel finished reading the letter and commented, "this is a pressing matter indeed. Please wait outside," he told the messenger, "I shall answer your mistress immediately."  
  
Borah dutifully manoeuvred the girl out of the small library, and Kemuel followed, but was called back from the threshold.  
  
"Kemuel."  
  
Kemuel's spirit sank. The tone in his Master's voice was one that demanded an explanation. He closed the door behind him and turned back to his Lord.  
  
"Yes, Lord?"  
  
"What exactly happened to that poor woman?" Raziel had moved to the desk in a corner of the room, and took out ink and a quill. Kemuel was forced to address his back.  
  
"We mistook her for a spy, my Lord. It was a most unfortunate mistake, we would never -- " His Lord silenced him with a hand gesture.  
  
"Just tell me, is it our custom to play noughts and crosses on the backs of spies' hands?"  
  
Kemuel's hope sank even further. "No, sire," he answered, crestfallen.  
  
"Pity," said Raziel, "I thought it was rather amusing." Finally he looked up and half a smile broke on his lips. Kemuel breathed more easily and stammered another apology. Again he was silenced with a hand-gesture.  
  
"Come look at this, Kemuel. It is quite serious."  
  
Kemuel walked over to his Lord and was given the letter to study, as well as the crude map that had come with it. The contents surprised him, but he waited for his sire to finish his short note in reply before voicing his disbelief.  
  
"The Rahabim plan to attack our keep?"  
  
"It seems so," the Lord answered perfectly calmly. He folded the letter closed, and sealed it with wax. Kemuel was puzzled. Was he being tested?  
  
"Do you not think it is some kind of trick, my Lord? To lure us out?" Lord Raziel pressed the face of a heavy metal seal into the warm wax, and shook his head. "Do you know this lady -- "  
  
"Demera." Raziel finished. "Yes, I met her at the Sanctuary a number of years ago. We... spent some time together." Kemuel nodded.  
  
"Ah."  
  
.  
  
His Lord put the note into the leather messenger's folder, stood up and opened the door. Kemuel studied the map of Darheim again, trying to decipher the notes scrawled in the margins. If his sire really wanted to know his opinion on the matter, he had better have one. He heard the door behind him close again.  
  
"Kemuel, inform Sir Marius and Sophia of this situation, and let them deal with it as they see fit. Make haste though, the Rahabim doubtlessly mean to attack in the evening."  
  
"My Lord," Kemuel said, meeting his Master's eye, "Marius and Sophia are out searching for those murderers. Many of our knights are."  
  
"Damn it!" his Lord exclaimed. He sat down on the bench where he had been reading. Kemuel still lingered at the writing-desk, the map in his hand. "Is Harald here?" Raziel asked.  
  
"No, my Lord." He waited as his Master stared out of the high window for a long moment, no doubt considering his options. The most experienced of the Razelim warriors were out, that was true. But Kemuel knew the troops better than his Lord did, and he felt an attack on Darheim was still possible, if the Rahabim were truly hiding there. It took him a while to work up the courage, but in the end he saw no harm in suggesting it.  
  
"My Lord? If I may be so bold," he began, carefully, but trying to make his voice carry conviction, "I think this would be an opportunity for some of our younger warriors to prove their worth. If we attack during the day, and take the Rahabim by surprise... We have enough talent to lead the divisions. I could recommend a few men that I think would meet the challenge." Lord Raziel looked at him, frowning, considering this. Kemuel could feel his heart beating in his chest; if the Master would take his advice on this, it could improve his reputation by a considerable margin, as long as the attack went well, of course. He could not suppress a proud smile when his Lord nodded.  
  
"Very well, Kemuel, I will leave the matter in your hands. Choose your leaders for the divisions, and take all the men you think you'll need." Kemuel's blood roared with excitement. This was more than he had dared hope for. It was a risk, but the rewards would be worth it. "Hit them where it hurts, Kemuel," his Lord continued, hard-voiced. "This conflict is getting out of hand. Capture their leaders if you can, drive off the others. Kill if you can. I shall not tolerate an army on my doorstep." Kemuel bowed.  
  
"My Lord. I will not disappoint you." 


	3. Adoile

THE GATHERING: III-- ADOILE   
  
The pale orange of morning had begun to bleed into Nosgoth's eastern sky. Adoile had finished with her duties for the night, and she stood in the door opening of Raziel's library. After his officer Kemuel had left, he had spent the remainder of the night there, pondering.   
  
"Will you not go to sleep at all?" she asked. He looked up.   
  
"No, not today, Adoile. You may though. You must be tired."   
  
"Not really," she answered, "all the more intrigued. Are there truly Rahabim in Darheim?"   
  
Raziel smirked. "I see you have not lost your talent for knowing things you ought not." She met his gaze without shame.   
  
"It is part of my duties to be aware of what goes on in your keep, is it not?"   
  
He chuckled, and, walking past her, briefly put a hand on her shoulder. "Yes, Adoile, it is. It just worries me how good you are at it."   
  
"What I don't understand is how they could possibly remain unnoticed there. Darheim has always been loyal to you, why did they not warn us?" Anyone else might have bit back the question, afraid of seeming impertinent. Adoile did not fear her Master. She knew him well enough to know what would incite his anger, and what would merely amuse him. Generally, she merely amused him.   
  
"You forget, humans have no knowledge of our conflicts," Raziel explained. "To a mortal man, a vampire is a vampire, and any vampire is his master. Don't you remember?" he added with a sly smile.   
  
"No, I don't." Adoile answered tersely. She did not like to be reminded that she had been mortal only a few decades ago. Generally, she tried hard to forget what hazy memories she had of that existence. Raziel had opened the polished wooden cupboard in the main room and took out a glass-and-silver pitcher filled with blood, as well as a cup.   
  
"Do you wish to see this?" he asked.   
  
"Oh, yes, gladly," she answered, surprised. He took another cup out of the cupboard, and she hurried to the door to get her hooded cape. She accepted the pitcher and cups from him, and followed him out of the room.   
  
"We should have a good view from the western wall," he said cheerfully.   
  
.   
  
"I must say my respect for Tagas is growing. I was not expecting this." They were making their way up the steps onto the outer wall, and Raziel glanced over his shoulder briefly. "You know who he is, I take it?"   
  
"One of Rahab's knights, isn't he?"   
  
Raziel nodded. "He leads the Rahabim in battle, although he is a better tactician than a warrior. He tends to stay away from the front lines, but is no less dangerous for it. He has surprised our troops more than once. He must have been gathering his forces for weeks for us not to have noticed. He knows that he would not stand a chance against our keep if we had time to prepare. So he gathers his camp in a place where we will not see it, even though it is right under our noses."   
  
They had come out on top of the massive castle wall, and stood between the battlements, looking out over Raziel's lands. From here, they could clearly see the broad grey walls of Darheim, the largest city in the territory. Its mortal inhabitants were under Lord Raziel's protection, and, in return, they paid taxes: in coin -- and in blood. It was a common arrangement in Kain's empire, and both Darheim and the Razelim had prospered by it. On the road to Darheim's main gate they could see Kemuel's army approaching.   
  
"Tagas didn't count on us finding out though, and the daylight will bother them much more than us," Raziel said with a satisfied smile.   
  
"You expect an easy victory then?" Adoile asked. He considered this for a moment.   
  
"Under normal circumstances, yes. But all our best warriors are away to catch those thrice-damned zealots." Adoile nodded gravely. A band of self-appointed vampire hunters had claimed a fair few of their number recently. Not just fledglings, but some of Raziel's most valued children, including his deputy, Lord Konrad. "Sir Kemuel has a good name, but he's never had more than thirty men under him."   
  
"How many does he lead now?"   
  
"Around three hundred." Adoile could not suppress a giggle. That was almost all of their remaining troops. The stakes on this game were higher than ever.   
  
"That's quite a step up," she said.   
  
"Kemuel said he would consider it a chance to prove his worth," Raziel answered. "Let us hope that that is indeed something worth proving."   
  
The sun had risen above the cliffs to the east. It was visible through the smoke-clouds as a pale dish of white light; not strong enough to burn, but bright enough to bother. Adoile turned up her hood, and gathered her cloak up over her hands. Raziel leaned against the battlement wall, bare chested; the rays of Nosgoth's feeble sun had long ceased to bother him.   
  
The army had arrived at the gates, which swung open slowly. Adoile set out the two cups on the low wall before them, and poured out to both of them. Raziel took up his cup and toasted,   
  
"To Kemuel."   
  
.   
  
Adoile drank deeply. Being up this late did in fact tire her, and the sunlight hurt her eyes. She would be damned if she'd let Raziel know though. The blood they drank was strong and sweet: the blood of her own kind. She smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying it to the fullest. Her position as Raziel's personal servant brought her these privileges from time to time, and they were not wasted on her.   
  
The breeze carried the sound of bells to the tower; the alarm had sounded in Darheim.   
  
"So much for the surprise element," Adoile remarked. Raziel nodded.   
  
"I would say the odds are roughly even at this moment." He leaned his elbows on the low wall and settled the way he might settle himself if he were watching a chess-match. Adoile's eyes were drawn to the smooth, veined skin of his shoulders, cut neatly in two by the narrow ponytail resting between his shoulder blades. Then she followed his gaze to the gates of Darheim. Most of the army had entered the city, but a small group lingered outside.   
  
Along with the sound of the bells, the wind now carried a roaring battle cry she knew well. Raziel chuckled. "Do you hear that?"   
  
She smiled with pure joy, and raising her fist in the air, shouted along with her clansmen: "Raziel!" The fight was on. She felt elated, proud to be kin of those warriors, to be Raziel's daughter, to be alive. She laughed, and shouted again. "Raziel!"   
  
.   
  
The band still lingering outside had surrounded the open gate, and were attacking anyone who came out. Raziel pointed.   
  
"He's closed the city. Put them on dying ground."   
  
"Was that smart?" Adoile asked.   
  
"It will not make the fight any easier, but if he wants to capture Tagas, it will probably be the only way." He laughed gently. "Wouldn't that be amusing, to capture the army leader?"   
  
"Rahab would not be impressed," she answered, but Raziel waved his hand dismissively.   
  
"Rahab has nothing to do with these games." He poured himself another glass. "He's too busy mouldering." The hint of a smile curled his lips, and she laughed. In the distance, she noticed a single figure dropping down the side wall.   
  
"There, he's getting away," she shouted, unable to contain her excitement. "Get him!" She was not the only one who had seen it. Two men broke the formation around the gate and pursued the running figure. Soon, they were upon him. Adoile laughed out loud, but Raziel had noticed the rising smoke.   
  
"A fire," he said, with some worry in his voice. Adoile watched, a thin cloud rose slowly from inside the city walls. It grew, and pretty soon she could smell it on the breeze. Burning flesh.   
  
"What are they doing?" Raziel growled. "I have been clear about this."   
  
Adoile could only agree. It happened from time to time in battle, that the bodies of the losing side were burned. It was considered dishonourable because it kept them from being resurrected, and devastated their numbers. Whether Rahab was involved in these 'games' or not, he would not take it lightly if half his men were burned to ashes. And by the shouts that still reached their ears, it was not the Razelim burning. Adoile grew quiet, and watched the rising smoke.   
  
Raziel cursed loudly, his claws digging into the battlement wall, and then she could see it too. The fire was spreading.   
  
Inside the stone city walls, most of the human's buildings were wood and thatch. A big fire could devastate an entire city. They could hear the call on the wind: "retreat!" Adoile wondered if it wasn't too late, when she realised something else was wrong.   
  
The group of people at the gate seemed to grow, but they were still fighting.   
  
.   
  
"They're still holding the gate," Raziel said, incredulous. It was true. The Razelim, dressed in red, were attacking anyone who came out of those gates, Rahabim or human. Bodies were tossed back into the main street. Adoile felt as if her chest was a dark hollow in which hear heartbeat echoed without answer. She knew what was happening. She could see the same dismay in her Master's eyes. Drunk on blood and violence, these men were doing as they'd been told, keeping everyone inside the city even as it turned into a raging inferno. Adoile watched the fire jump from roof to roof, faster than she could have imagined. So many would be killed...   
  
At long last, what was left of the army retreated a ways from the gate. It was too late, no one came out anymore. The Rahabim and the mortals had all been killed in the fire. Adoile could feel the anger emanating from Raziel. She stood very still, knowing better than to do anything that could turn her Master's rage on her. But it was not her name that was on his lips, as he watched his brother's army burn to ashes, along with the lionshare of his own herd. It was the name of one of his sons, and he spoke it as if it was a curse.   
  
"Kemuel." 


	4. Rahab

IVRAHAB   
  
Raziel strode through the underground hallways that connected his territory to Rahab's. But for him and the three men that followed him, they were empty. Normally, Rahab had them guarded, even though all vampires could use these passageways freely. Now it seemed he could not spare the men. Raziel felt the weight of Darheim's fallen as if he had slain them himself. Unlike his son Kemuel, he accepted the responsibility. Kemuel had protested that he did not know who lit the pile of bodies, that it was not his fault the men were out of control. Raziel had corrected him. He was responsible, and by extension, so was Raziel. Now he was marching south for an official visit, with only three men as a guard, bearing a gift for the enemy -- his brother Rahab. His son Axel bore an artfully crafted glass pitcher, beset with jewels in red and blue. It was a masterpiece from the glassblowers of Vennstein, and filled with Razelim blood. All in all a sumptuous gift, and a suitable token of respect. The soldier Borah bore a gift as well: a set of adorned glass goblets in a case. This gift was intended for someone else, however, and had a much darker purpose.   
  
He reached one of the gates to Rahab's keep. He could see no guards, but torchlight shone from the arches above. Raziel gestured to Borah. Borah raised his voice to a thundering bass as he hailed the unseen guardsmen.   
  
"The Lord Raziel approaches, and wishes to see your master. Open the gate, you vermin, or we will bust it down!"   
  
Raziel raised his eyebrows and slowly turned to look at his soldier.   
  
"My dear man," he said softly, "it's solid oak reinforced with steel. How exactly do you imagine we would 'bust it down'?"   
  
Borah grinned sheepishly, but there was a sound from the gate, and it swung open slowly. "Worked, didn't it?" he mumbled.   
  
They were met by a regal-looking man Raziel did not know, and were led down the corridors into Rahab's main hall. The throne was empty; a group of Rahabim lingered in the darkness under the arches surrounding the hall. They looked at Raziel and his men with suspicion and hatred. Raziel turned to his guide.   
  
"My men would like to see the lady Demera," he said indicating Borah and his companion. The guide waved a servant closer. "And I would speak with your master," Raziel finished, unneccesarily.   
  
"Have you come to gloat over your victory?" a spiteful voice asked from under the arches. Raziel turned to look, but it was impossible to determine who had spoken. They all glared at him, a silent, threatening crowd.   
  
"There was no victor at Darheim," he answered, raising his voice slightly and looking at each of them in turn, "only senseless slaughter. I have come to offer my condolences, not to gloat." He paused a moment before adding, "And not to answer questions from fledglings." He turned back to his guide, who led him and Axel up one the flights of stairs which descended from above the entrace door into the hall on both sides. The architecture of Rahab's keep was more spacious than that of Raziel's, but the floors and walls were bare, and many of the magnificent stained glass windows had cracked or missing panels.   
  
He was led to a small study, the walls lined with bookshelves. Rahab sat at a table in the middle of it. He somehow looked small to Raziel, dressed as he was in an unadorned sleeveless robe, reading alone in a little room. Rahab stood up.   
  
"Raziel, I was not expecting a visit from you, let alone an official visit," he said with a glance at the red shoulder-cape.   
  
"My brother," Raziel said, and nodded respectfully. "We have much to discuss."   
  
"Indeed." Rahab turned to the man that had led them here. "Why don't you two keep each other company," he said with a gesture in Axel's direction. Raziel nodded at Axel, and they both left, closing the door behind them. Rahab took the adorned pitcher from Raziel and held it up, allowing the torchlight to play in the jewel's facets. His face was blank. "A gift to make up for the losses you caused me?" he asked cynically. Raziel bowed his head.   
  
"Rahab, nothing can make up for the grief my clan has brought you. This is merely a token of respect."   
  
"Bah," Rahab sneered. "Brainless, bloodthirsty rabble. I miss them not."   
  
Raziel laughed. "Really? Then what is it that has put you in such a dark mood?"   
  
Rahab sighed, and turned away, putting the pitcher down on the table. "I've been thinking about the old days, Raziel, when our clans fought side by side, rather than ripping each other to pieces." Raziel smiled thinly. "Do you remember when we first had to defend castle Darstein, before it was your stronghold? Kain knew they would come. He gathered us together; I can still hear his words: 'In the morning, they will come for us. And we will be ready.'" Raziel nodded. He remembered this as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Rahab continued, "I can still see us standing there, in that small tower room, mere fledgelings, but we were all so proud then. You were so proud..." His voice trailed off as he half turned to look at Raziel, standing there with his arms crossed, in his ceremonial armour. He turned back to the window as if the sight pained him. Raziel went to stand beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder. He tried to think of a suitably gentle rebuke to guide his brother back to the present. Rahab chuckled and continued recounting his memory. "And afterwards, when we gathered again, grimy and worn out, and Melchiah with that gash in his brow." Raziel couldn't help but smile at the memory. "Blood was continuously running down into his eye, but he said, 'I am not hurt,'"   
  
"--'I am victorious,'" Raziel finished with him. He laughed. "Poor Melchiah. He always suffered more than us."   
  
Rahab's smile faded. "How far we have fallen that we face each other as enemies now, Raziel! And for what? Our kin are at each other's throats over a few meagre hamlets." He shook his head. "These times... these children!" he threw his hands up in the air.   
  
Suddenly, he turned to Raziel, a serious expression on his face. "I worry for the future, Raziel. The crops are failing, the humans starving.. The herd keeps on thinning, and yet our numbers continue to grow as if we meant to wipe out the human race all together." Raziel grinned at the thought. "You may laugh Raziel," Rahab continued, "but what will we eat then? Will we prey upon each other, consuming our own children until only one of us is left?"   
  
Raziel frowned disapprovingly. "Don't be so melodramatic. Famines are of all ages; the cattle will pull through. We have seen this time and time again, within a few decades the population will recover. There is nothing to worry about."   
  
"This drought has lasted for three years now, Raziel. This is not a bad year, this is a bad decade. And now, with Darheim destroyed..." He leaned on the windowsill, looking out over his blasted lands. "It is not just the dwindling herd," he continued. "Everything in Nosgoth seems to stagnate and rot. Even us. Our numbers may be rising but I can see our powers failing. The fledglings are getting ever weaker, and do you know how long it has been since Kain last presented us with a new gift?"   
  
"I did not realise there was a set time period between the changes," Raziel lied. He had realised it had been a long time, but did not wish to encourage his brother's worries.   
  
"Never more than fifty years," Rahab said. "And yet, now there is a gap of nearly a century. It won't be long before we will catch up to him." Raziel gave him a sceptical look. They were not even close to catching up. Rahab ignored him. "And then I imagine the decay will set in, like in stagnant waters."   
  
A silence spread between them. Rahab stared into the darkness outside the window, seemingly caught up in his memories again. "It is your latest change, isn't it?" Raziel asked gently.   
  
Rahab nodded, and hung his head in defeat. "You warned me about this, but I could never have understood. I can see everything so clearly now, each century moving into the next, every tiny event that shaped the years to come... I can remember everything as if it was yesterday. I can remember yesterday as if it was happening right now!"   
  
Raziel nodded. He understood. He recieved this gift only a few years ago himself, and he remembered how it had unnerved him. To see all of history clearly, in a single glance, to recognise the patterns of the past and guess at those of the future...   
  
"Only now do I truly see that our world is doomed. Now that I remember more clearly how things were, I can see everything dwindling, diminishing, fading... Our herds are thinning ever more, our council is torn by conflict. I remember the centuries past, and they are filled with nothing but corruption and decay. And as for the future--"   
  
"It will bring us ever more centuries of decay and corruption," Raziel finished. "Yes, Nosgoth is dying, my brother, but it has been doing so for almost a thousand years now, and, if you ask me, it will take a thousand years more before it finally gets around to it." He didn't mean to sound belligerent, he wanted to comfort his brother, but it was hard to find the right words. "We knew this from the very beginning, Rahab," he added softly. "He told us when he first made us his lieutenants. 'Fitting lords for a dying world,' that is what he called us."   
  
Rahab leant his elbows on the window sill. He repeated Kain's old phrase, "Fitting lords for a dying world," in a low and cheerless voice. His head dropped down into his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were tear-stained. "Raziel, how can we endure it?" he called, his voice torn and ragged.   
  
Raziel folded his brother into a gentle embrace. He did not know of any words that could ease Rahab's pain. It troubled him to know he suffered so, for he knew where it could lead. He had lost more than one child to the toothless maw of depression. His sensitive ears picked up angry voices from deep within the keep, though no words reached his ears. It seemed his gift was working its poison. Perhaps the press of current events could bring his brother back to the here and now.   
  
"Rahab, this..." He paused a moment, trying to find the right word. "-- vision -- is a gift, like any other gift we have recieved. Enjoy these memories for what pleasure they can bring you, but do not allow yourself to be consumed by them! This age has its own challenges." In the depth of the keep below them, there was a loud bang, as if a door slammed open. "And its own rewards," he added. Rahab sighed. "Besides, your clan needs your guiding hand, now more than ever. They suffer too, and they suffer more for your absence."   
  
Rahab shook his head. "They get by fine without me. I don't care about their little games of intrigue anymore."   
  
"No, Rahab," Raziel said sternly, "they are not getting by. Your house is torn by treason. Your men are challenging a traitress as we speak, and where are you when an example needs to be made? Who will represent the authority of the Rahabim if not you?"   
  
"A traitress?" Rahab asked with a puzzled expression on his face. "How do you know that?"   
  
"Because, my brother, it was me she betrayed you to. Now go and get involved, your clan needs you!" He opened the door, and Rahab followed his advice, though he still looked heavy-hearted.   
  
They entered the balcony overlooking the throne-room, and Raziel was pleased to note that his guess had been correct. The girl-vampire Demera was chained, and kneeling on the floor in front of the dais. Amadis, Rahab's first advisor, was standing in front of the throne, questioning her.   
  
"What is going on here?" Rahab demanded, after Raziel elbowed him into action. All present looked up; Raziel's eyes met Demera's. She looked helpless, afraid, but there was a hopeful smile on her lips. He waved at her. Rahab made his way down the steps and towards the dais. The crowd parted respectfully for him.   
  
Raziel watched from the balcony as Rahab heard the evidence against Demera from Amadis. Behind his right shoulder he felt the comforting presence of Axel: silent, supportive and watchful. Below him, in the crowd, he eventually detected his two soldiers, watching the trial from the sidelines. Demera tried to deny the allegations, but her lies were fragile and easy to pierce. Soon enough, she broke down, and, sobbing, declared that yes, she had warned the Razelim. She felt there had been enough bloodshed.   
  
She was now held responsible for the debacle at Darheim, and Rahab sentenced her to a trial by fire, which essentially meant she was to be burned to death. In the old days, some fortunate vampires had survived this trial, but the execution method had long since been perfected. She accepted her fate with dignity, Raziel noted with approval: she simply bowed her head in silence. As she was led away though, she glanced up at the balcony. Raziel stared back, his eyes cold and unmovable. Rahab sent his people back to their posts, and Raziel followed him back into the study.   
  
"A mild punishment," he commented as he closed the door behind them.   
  
Rahab shot him an angry glance. "Death is not a mild punishment, brother."   
  
"Your army was exterminated because of her! Surely that deserves a more serious punishment than a mere trial by fire?" Raziel said, genuinely surprised.   
  
"She did not intend for that to happen." Rahab repeated her defense. "She will be punished, what more would you have me do?"   
  
"She betrayed you, Rahab. I thought the traditional punishment for treason was to be cast into the abyss."   
  
"And you betrayed her. Shall we cast you into the abyss as well?" Rahab asked angrily.   
  
Raziel laughed at the suggestion. "Don't be ridiculous. I've done nothing untoward."   
  
"You brought her a gift in thanks, and made no effort to hide it. You obviously meant for suspicion to fall on her."   
  
"Of course I did," Raziel said, his own anger rising. "I thought you would be grateful for it. We can't let treason go unpunished!" There was something in Rahab's eyes that stung him more than anger could have. Disgust.   
  
"It was cold-hearted and cruel. That woman loved you, Raziel!"   
  
"All love me," Raziel said slowly, clenching his teeth. "That does not free them from their obligations. I did this for you, Rahab! The loyalty of our clans is what our rule is based on. Without it, the empire will collapse. We cannot tolerate traitors, surely you can see that?"   
  
"You didn't have any moral trepidations about using the information she gave you," Rahab said sharply.   
  
"Then what was I to do?" Raziel shouted, "Stand idly by while you slaughtered my clan and raided my keep? Yes, I used the information she gave me! We were all but defenseless, I had no choice!"   
  
Rahab looked away, a pained expression on his face. Once again, he appeared small to Raziel, tired and worn out like an old man.   
  
"Please, let us not be enemies, Raziel," he whispered.   
  
Raziel sighed, allowing his anger to fade away. "I am not your enemy, Rahab," he answered. "Tagas was, but he is no more. Since you have no army left, I think our war is over."   
  
"My clan will not forget their defeat so easily," Rahab said slowly, his eyes fixed on the door. "They will continue to consider you their enemy."   
  
"There's nothing wrong with that," Raziel said, an arrogant little smile spreading on his face. "They fear me a lot more than I fear them."   
  
And with that, he left his brother to his thoughts. 


	5. Hunters

THE GATHERING: V-- THE HUNTERS   
  
Adoile let her in, she'd come to him immediately. She was still wearing her armour, and a bloodied polearm in her hand. She bowed, briefly.   
  
"We found them."   
  
He walked over to embrace her. "Sophia, you child of my heart. You bring the first good news in nights. Did you get them all?" She smiled a bit uneasily.   
  
"All three of them, yes."   
  
Raziel frowned, and shook his head. "That can't be. Three mortals could not have killed Konrad."   
  
"Three mortals couldn't, no." Her face was drawn. Raziel could guess her meaning, but he didn't want to believe it. Those cowardly murders, the grisly trophies outside his gate, this was the work of his own kind? Sophia cast her eyes down and added, "They're in the dungeon, my Lord."   
  
She followed him down to the half-sunken prison cells, where Sophia's battle-weary band had gathered. In one of the cells, behind steel bars and shackled to the wall, were three vampires, weak from blood loss. One still had a sword pierced through his chest.   
  
"That is Stahl, Cermak's son. He left us several months ago, though I do not know why," Sophia explained. "The other two are of Turel's blood. They put up quite a fight."   
  
Raziel looked at the weary crew gathered around them. "I can tell. If you wish, you may go to rest now. You are welcome to the cellars as well." Most of them left then, to their rooms or to the eastern-most cells, where the mortals were kept, and the bottled blood. Raziel gestured for the cell door to be opened. He stepped in; Sophia and three of her warriors remained outside, waiting. One of the Turelim followed him with his eyes, glaring at him from under heavy eyebrows. Raziel gripped the sword piercing Stahl's chest, and jerked it out.   
  
Stahl gasped and struggled against his restraints for a moment before he realised it was futile. The wound on his chest closed slowly. His pale grey eyes met Raziel's.   
  
"Ah, the crown prince of darkness himself." he said, softly, as if he did not want anyone to overhear. "Have you come to gloat over your catch?" The words stung, in spite of their futility. Raziel struggled to understand what had caused this hatred.   
  
"I know you, Stahl. I trained your father myself. What on earth happened to you?"   
  
The man showed a sickly smile. "Not what did, but what will happen changed me. The future stepped down to greet me, and I have seen its justice." His voice sounded ethereal, as if the words came from far beyond. Raziel bared his teeth. His patience was already wearing thin.   
  
"You will speak plainly, Stahl, or I will make sure that this is only the prelude to your suffering." This made Stahl laugh. It was a mirthless laugh, filled only with despair and madness.   
  
"Plainly then, I have seen him," he gushed. "The avenging angel, he will come down from the sky, and cleanse Nosgoth of its plague. A thousand years! I have seen it," he shrieked, "I have seen Kain die!" Raziel backhanded him across the mouth.   
  
"Mind your words," he snapped. A thin trickle of blood ran from Stahl's mouth. It had shut him up, at least. Raziel turned to the man beside him. "And you believed in this madness?"   
  
The Turelim vampire nodded devoutly. "My people have foretold this all centuries ago. The dark gods will reign for a thousand years, then they will fall. The true God's angel will come for your souls."   
  
"_Our_ souls? What about you?" Raziel shouted. "'Your people' are the Turelim. You are vampire! You murder your own kind and the only explanation you offer is this deranged fantasy?" He could feel the anger roaring in his blood. He struggled to contain it. In his mind's eye, he could still see his Konrad, his faithful lieutenant for centuries, lifelessly dangling from a wooden stake.   
  
"We are all damned," Turel's man said, "but we may yet find redemption in preparing for His coming. Every soul we reap is one."   
  
"You could have spared us the trouble and taken your own first," Raziel said, trembling with rage. For the first time, the third man spoke up. His voice was deep and ragged.   
  
"Don't think you will escape, little God," he said. "He who stands highest, will take the deepest plunge." That calm, cold-voiced threat broke down the last of Raziel's self-control. He grabbed the man's collarbone, digging his claws deep into the flesh, and tore open the ribcage, which gave way with a satisfying crunch. He closed his claws around the still beating heart, tore it out, and discarded it on the dungeon floor.   
  
"He will come for you," the other Turelim added as fuel to the fire. Raziel needed little encouragement. With a wordless roar, he plunged his hand into the man's abdomen, digging his way up towards the heart. He opened his mouth and willed out what blood remained inside the broken, battered body. It burst out of the man's mouth and flowed into his own, dark and strong. He held the ruined heart up to the third man, his own kinsman, who moved as if to speak. He leaned in close, their faces almost touching.   
  
"Go on, say it!" he spat out, but the man just stared at him, unafraid, his pale grey eyes wide with his madness and heavenly visions. His unrepentant gaze enraged Raziel even further, and with full force he plunged his claws into those eyes. They squelched, and when he pulled his hand back blood gushed from the empty sockets.   
  
"Let's see if you can still see any angels now." He was still trembling, but the need for violence had bled out of his limbs. Still the man would not bow his head.   
  
"Your rage will not save you from the coming judgment," he whispered hoarsely. Raziel turned away, disgusted.   
  
"And your God will not save you from the torment you deserve," he replied. He ignored the mumbled answer and addressed Sophia, who was lingering, alone, by the wall opposite the cell. "Feel free to throw him into the abyss at your earliest convenience," Raziel said, anger making his voice cold and his words hard. "And him too!" he added, indicating Kemuel, who was chained up at the end of the hallway.   
  
Ignoring the tormented "my Lord" from Kemuel, he made his way up the steps, back into the keep. His children fled out of the way with startled expressions on their faces, and he realised his face, chest and hands were gored with vampire blood. He felt disgusted with himself. Catching those hunters should have been a victory, but instead, he felt only emptiness. He did not want to see anyone, did not want to be seen. Instead of heading for his rooms upstairs he descended into the crypt under the keep. The heavy steel door slammed closed behind him, and he looked around, his eyes adjusting slowly to the perfect darkness. No one came here, only the dead, and those who desired perfect solitude as they went through a change. He sat down on one of the cool, stone slabs, pulling his knees up in front of him. There was no one else here, but for one frozen form, dusty, doubled in on itself. It had been here a long time, and would be for a long time to come.   
  
How he would welcome it now, the deep slowness that led him into the state of change, the dreamless sleep, almost death, free from thought. Instead, all his thoughts, actions and words were whirling around in his head and sleep had never seemed further away.   
  
He sat like that for hours, staring into the darkness, waiting for rest that would not come. No daylight reached the crypt, and he had no idea of the time when the steel door slowly swung open, the old hinges protesting loudly.   
  
"Leave me," he growled angrily at whoever was there, but the order was ignored. Adoile's soft voice spoke his name into the darkness. Adoile, that marvel of a creature. Astonishingly beautiful, sharp witted, and utterly fearless. She always spoke to him as though they were equals, despite being barely over twenty years of age.   
  
"Raziel, I have prepared a bath for you." She stood by the door, doubtlessly unable to see him, waiting for an answer. He looked at his blood-encrusted hands. A bath... She had him there. Slowly, he got up and walked towards her. Without a word, she followed him out, up the stairs, down into a different set of cellars. The stairways were blessedly empty, and he wondered, was it morning?   
  
Water burns a vampire's flesh, so they used churned milk to bathe. It was kept in this small cellar next to the prison cells to keep it from going sour. In the middle of the room was a granite tub, large enough to sit in comfortably. She had already filled it with milk, pure and steaming hot. Adoile helped him out of his clothes, and he stepped into the tub. He settled down and felt his muscles relax slowly. Adoile used a deep wooden spoon to pour warm milk over his shoulders, his back, and his face, and gently, bit by bit, she washed the blood from his skin. The roaring tempest of his thoughts finally died down. He was grateful for her silence, and her loving attention. She even untied and washed his hair, and when she was finished, sat back on her knees and simply waited.   
  
"Adoile," he said finally. She looked up, in her eyes the same unquestioning, perfect faith that he always found there. "Do you ever think about God?"   
  
"I don't suppose you mean Lord Kain," she answered.   
  
"No, I don't mean Lord Kain." He stood up and stepped out of the bath. She met him with a soft towel, and began to rub his back and his arms, removing every trace of milk. "I mean the old God, the mortal's God," he went on. "The One they worship in their abbeys and churches."   
  
"Then the answer is no, I never think of Him." She had draped the towel over his shoulders, and began to brush out his hair.   
  
"But you must have believed, when you were mortal?" he asked. Her hands fell still for a moment, as she truly had to search her memory deeply to remember.   
  
"I think we, as mortals, believed that God had abandoned this world, and that Kain was his successor." She went back to brushing his hair.   
  
"Kain is no God," Raziel said, frustrated. "I know what they say of him, but he was once a mortal man, like any of us."   
  
"And the mighty oak was once a tiny sapling," she answered enigmatically. "Does that mean we can easily push it over?"   
  
Raziel moved to say something, but then let out his breath with a sigh. He was not sure what he meant to say. Adoile had finished with his hair, and moved down his hips to dry his thighs and his calves. He lifted one foot, and she toweled it between the toes.   
  
"Kain's empire has brought order to this world, and nobility," she explained. "A dark nobility perhaps, but where would Nosgoth be without it? He leads our people, for better or worse, and all creatures bow down to Him. He has shaped the land and the sky to suit His will. Kain, you, your brothers... You _are_ the divine influence of our world, there is no other God." He looked at her as she sat there: kneeled in front of him, the towel in her lap. He asked her a question the answer to which he could read in her eyes.   
  
"Do you really believe _I_ am a divine creature?"   
  
She smiled. "Raziel," she said in an almost chiding tone, "of course you are." 


	6. Accounting

THE GATHERING: VI --ACCOUNTING   
  
Raziel stood at the crest of the hill, digging his toes into the warm, yellowed grass. It was high summer, and though the sun was but a sickly disk of light hidden behind black clouds of smoke, it was very warm. From here, he looked down on the sanctuary of the clans, the magnificent palace that had been built around the broken pillars of Nosgoth. The sight lifted his heart. Representatives of all the clans gathered here, in the courtyards and hallways, built and maintained by mortal slaves. Around the enormous dome flew the six clan flags, and the entire building sparkled with endlessly detailed decoration in precious metals. Raziel wandered down the hill without haste, the evening was yet to set in. He was not sure Kain took any rest during the day, but it would be rude to arrive too early.   
  
The main gate was open, and several vampires were already wandering the outer yard, discussing plans, gauging opinions, vying for power. They nodded and bowed gracefully to Raziel. He was wearing a sleeveless robe lettered with gold thread and clasped with a bronze disk which displayed his name sigil, not that that was necessary. Most of these vampires knew him by face. He noticed one of his own clan bowing particularly deeply, and went up to him.   
  
"Selig, you little thief," he said smiling. "How do you like your new role as a courtier?"   
  
Selig bowed deeply again. "Marvelously, my Lord. I cannot hope to repay the debt of gratitude I owe you."   
  
Raziel smirked. Selig had been a travelling merchant, his most important wares being lies and fantastical cons designed to separate fools and their money. He had talked his way into immortality, something that both impressed and amused Raziel. "Do you happen to know if Lord Kain is in?" he asked.   
  
"I believe you will find him in the throne room, my Lord," Selig answered. He bowed once more as Raziel turned to leave him.   
  
Raziel passed through the enormous main gate. Many vampires gathered here, taking shelter in the shade of the gatehouse until the sun had begun to set. They stepped aside respectfully when Raziel approached. The gatehouse opened into a smaller courtyard, with shallow ponds on either side of a stone walkway. Beautiful, silver-scaled fish glided through the clear water, which was edged with dark-green, straggled plants. An unmistakable figure leaned his hand on the silver-plated fence around the pond, his back turned towards Raziel. Kain. He threw small pieces of bread into the water and Raziel paused for a moment, unwilling to disturb him. It gladdened him that a man like Kain would take pleasure in something as simple as feeding fish.   
  
"Yes, Raziel?" Kain asked without turning around. His voice sounded weary. "What is it?"   
  
Raziel had ceased to be surprised at Kain's apparent omniscience; he knew it was simply a series of clever tricks. It worked very well on the younger vampires, but did not fool him. "Good evening, my Lord," he said pleasantly. "I trust nothing troubles you unduly?"   
  
Kain turned to face him, and looked him up and down appraisingly. He frowned, possibly at the ornate robe Raziel was wearing. Kain himself wore his red cape over a bare chest, as he had for the past few centuries. "You have something to discuss, Raziel. You might as well tell me now," he said.   
  
"It's Rahab." There was no point to delaying further, although Raziel knew this conversation would not be pleasant. "I visited him a few weeks ago, and it seems his melancholy has deepened into a depression --"   
  
"Really? I wonder why," Kain said cynically. "I heard what you did in Darheim. An unusual strategy, for a man to destroy his own herd."   
  
"It wasn't a strategy," Raziel answered, too quickly. "It was --"   
  
"A lunacy?" Kain interrupted.   
  
"I chose the wrong man for the task," Raziel grumbled. Kain turned to walk slowly over the walkway between the ponds. Raziel followed beside him. "The reason for this," he explained, "was that all the right men were out hunting a band of zealots who had been murdering my people."   
  
Kain raised his eyebrows. "Ah, yes, I heard of them. Did you catch them, in the end?"   
  
"Yes, we did." Raziel realised that in steering the conversation away from Darheim he had only brought it onto more bad news. "It turned out to be a group of vampires, led by one who thought himself a prophet. Apparently he suffered from visions that told him the age of vampires was coming to an end."   
  
Kain seemed amused. "One of your clan, I presume?"   
  
"Why do you say that?" Raziel's anger at the insult answered before he had a chance to think. "It was," he admitted through clenched teeth.   
  
"Your clan has always been plagued with a certain degree of madness," Kain explained, his teeth bared in a sardonic grin. Raziel shook his head, trying to say something but Kain continued, "like when they pursued Volker's army right _into_ the Termogent forest. You have to admit no sane vampire would willingly charge into a swamp." Raziel remembered the battle Kain referred to clearly. A human army had fled into the marshes, shouting taunts at the war bands that followed them. Most of the troops were wise enough to let them escape, but not the Razelim. He still remembered shouting "halt" over and over in the darkness and fog, as his fledgling army charged to their certain deaths. Over half of them never made it out of the treacherous pools and streams of Termogent. Many others were so badly burned by the water they took years to recover fully. Silently, he followed Kain through the curving corridor that ran around the throne room. He realised he had never won an argument with Kain. He honestly didn't know why he tried.   
  
"I suppose my children have never been known for their great intelligence," he said darkly.   
  
"But all the more for their -- enthusiasm," Kain offered. "And now they have wiped out Rahab's forces, and he is upset with you," he summarised the situation.   
  
"Actually, he seems more concerned about his herd than about his clan," Raziel explained. "His latest gift has given him a new perspective on history, and he fears for the future. Everywhere he sees decay and corruption." They had reached the door to the throne room, and looked inside at the leaning ruins of the pillars. The room was deserted. "I'm afraid he has reason to worry," Raziel continued, "the continued droughts are taking their toll, and the villages in his territory were already much weakened by the continued raids, not to mention the Turelim, who seem to consider all of Nosgoth their territory --" he stopped before he lost himself on an old issue. "He... We are both concerned about our own futures, too. Our fledglings seem to become weaker with every generation, and it has been a long time since you last presented us with a new gift. I wonder, has our ascent -- stopped?"   
  
"That is not for you to concern yourself with, Raziel," Kain said sternly, his eyes fixed on his throne. "All will become clear in time. As for Rahab, if your quarrel troubles you, or him, then I suggest you put an end to it." He turned to Raziel, who saw the sharpness of his voice mirrored in his yellow eyes. "These clan-wars of yours are inane. You should have ended it a century ago. Amusing it may have been, at first, but it has long since turned into a pathetic waste of blood. There is but one clan, Raziel, _my clan_."   
  
Raziel found himself actually stepping back. "Yes, of course," he said.   
  
Kain continued their walk around the throne-room, and once again, Raziel followed. "Have you seen your youngest brother lately, Raziel?"   
  
"Melchiah? No, not recently."   
  
"I wonder how he fares," Kain said, musing.   
  
"I'm sure he fares well enough," Raziel offered, but Kain cut him off.   
  
"I'm not." There was a moment of silence. "Would you visit him, Raziel, on my behalf? I have had no news from him for far too long."   
  
Raziel considered asking why Kain would not go himself, but realised a refusal would not help his own position. He had brought only bad news today. Annoying Kain further might not be the wisest course of action. "Certainly," he said, "I would be happy to visit him. I have not seen him in a long time either."   
  
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, there is someone else I need to talk to." He left, striding over the bridge between the fishponds, leaving Raziel standing alone in the corridor without so much as a glance in his direction.   
  
Raziel wondered if he was headed towards Dumah or Turel's territory. Something told him he was not Kain's favourite son tonight.   
  
Perhaps it was time to end the feud between his and Rahab's clan for good. The conflict had indeed gotten badly out of hand. In the meantime, while visiting Melchiah was not the most pleasant task he could think of, it was probably a chance to redeem himself. He decided not to waste it. 


	7. Youngest

THE GATHERING: VII-- THE YOUNGEST   
  
It was well past midnight before Raziel found his youngest brother. The Melchahim made their home in a city built on the remains of Steichencroe, a human city that was one of the first to capitulate to Kain's vampire armies. Melchiah had made quite significant improvements over the centuries. Raziel eventually found him, eventually, on a catwalk overlooking an enormous trench to the south of the city. He was surrounded by some vampires and mortals. In the depths Raziel could see a wild river flowing, churning, surrounded by pumping and steaming machinery. Whatever it was, it was loud, and forced them all to shout to be heard.   
  
"Melchiah, my brother!" Raziel said without needing to strain his voice. Melchiah turned to meet him, a surprised look on his face. Raziel embraced him. "What is that infernal noise?" he asked loudly. "And what on earth happened to your hand?" He held on to Melchiah's lower arm, shocked to see that his right hand was missing. The stump had been tightly bandaged with white strips of cloth. Melchiah wrenched his arm free.   
  
"Nothing, just an accident," he yelled. He gestured for Raziel to follow him with his good hand, and led them towards a small, wooden building set in the rockface. The wooden steps were rough but solid, and inside the building, Raziel found, the noise was much reduced. The small room was dominated by a huge wooden table, covered with designs and drawings of whatever machine was at work down there.   
  
"It's a pump," Melchiah said. "I finally got this new design to work on a large scale. It can shift enormous amounts of water, as you could see!"   
  
Raziel was at a loss. "Why would you want to do that?" he asked. "And what did happen to your hand?" The sight of that bandaged stump disturbed him. A lost limb was a serious injury for any vampire, and Melchiah did not heal like the rest of them did.   
  
"Raziel, it -- it's not important. It just got caught in the machinery earlier, please, don't worry yourself on my account." He looked at his arm as if the injury was somehow below him. "I simply haven't had time to -- feed," he added.   
  
Raziel smiled uncomfortably. He knew Melchiah would need to do more than feed to regain that limb. His flesh did not regrow, so he patched up wounds with skin and tissue he took from those that did not need it anymore. The subject was distasteful to both of them, he realised. Yet, he did not want to let it drop. "Are you sure you'll ... recover?" he asked.   
  
Melchiah sighed. "Why are you here, Raziel?" he asked.   
  
"Kain asked me to visit."   
  
"Kain?" Melchiah asked with a dangerous edge to his voice. "I'm honoured." He bowed mockingly. Raziel shifted uneasily. "And what does the Master want with me?"   
  
"He just wondered how you were doing." Raziel shrugged.   
  
"How I was doing?" Melchiah echoed. "If he wonders how I'm doing, then why doesn't he come down here to have a look? Why don't any of you come down here to have a look?" He stood in front of the window, looking down into the chasm. "Don't you understand the implications of this? We can move lakes with this thing, Raziel! We could drain the southern swamps, turn those festering snakepits into land!" Raziel nodded. He could see the use now. The southern swamp were a dangerous place, for vampires. It was the home of one of the last free human tribes. It bordered with his own lands, and he had always thought it looked very beautiful, from a distance.   
  
"I don't know why I bother," Melchiah grumbled in reply to his blank expression. "None of you are interested in my projects, and that while you all reap the benefits! Who designed the furnaces that allow our children to go out during the day? Me. It was me that forced the river Aht underground. I bridged the Termogent, when it was still a deadly place. I designed the Bonder dam, and it was my clan that built it!" His face fell, anger was replaced by a cold bitterness. "And yet you look down on us as if we were barely more than human." He looked out the window again. A silence fell.   
  
"Melchiah," Raziel said in a consolidating tone.   
  
"Don't 'Melchiah' me," Melchiah said, turning on his brother in anger. "Don't think I don't know, Raziel. I am neither blind nor deaf. I know what you think of me."   
  
Raziel searched for the right words, taken aback by Melchiah's anger. "You're wrong, brother," he said gently. "Just that you are weaker does not mean we do not respect you." He strained, trying desperately for the words to ring true, willing them to be true. "Even Dumah has never denied that you were crucial to us, from the beginning!"   
  
"Dumah respects nothing but brute force," Melchiah sneered. "He is ashamed to call himself my brother."   
  
Raziel shook his head, but he knew denying it would be a lie. He understood Melchiah's pain. Centuries of being last, being least in everyone's eyes. Even his own. Hidden behind the anger in Melchiah's eyes he could see the sadness and shame that had made him this bitter. It was unbearable to Raziel. He wanted to offer comfort, to offer something that would not be a lie...   
  
"My brother," he said softly, "if I offered you my throat, would you accept it?"   
  
Melchiah's angry façade broke, and the deluge of suffering and loneliness spilled forth. "Oh, Raziel..." He fell into his brother's arms, and Raziel embraced him tightly. His fangs were hesitant, trying to be gentle, and thereby hurting more. Raziel drew in his breath sharply. Finally, the skin broke, and Raziel let his blood flow to his younger brother, enjoying this rare moment of intimacy for all it was worth.   
  
In the old days, when they were still at war with the humans, they shared their blood often. Usually unwillingly: one brother would overwhelm and feed from the other, to affirm their status and settle their quarrels. To show who was strongest. Raziel had only fallen once under such an assault: Dumah had taken him by surprise and defeated him through sheer weight. Melchiah, as far as Raziel knew, had never won even once.   
  
Raziel put only the slightest pressure against Melchiah's shoulders, and he let go. He looked at Raziel, his eyes filled with gratitude and love.   
  
"It's true what they say," Melchiah said with a mischievous smile, "your blood is the sweetest." He licked his lips.   
  
Raziel smiled and wiped the last of the blood from his neck; the wound was already healed. The gesture seemed to remind Melchiah of his own weakness, he folded his hand around the bandaged stump and turned away, mumbling something Raziel didn't catch. The moment was gone. Raziel felt cold, the chasm between him and his brother widening once again.   
  
"Why don't you..." he started. "Why don't we have a celebration?" He was not sure where this was leading, but trusted his wits to save him.   
  
"I wasn't aware there was anything to celebrate?" Melchiah answered.   
  
"There is. I plan to negotiate a peace treaty with Rahab."   
  
"You're going to make peace with him now? That won't be easy. I heard what happened in Darheim."   
  
Raziel grimaced. He wondered how often he would have to hear that particular phrase. "That was an accident, little brother. Rahab and I share the same intentions. I'm sure we can come to an agreement."   
  
Melchiah looked uncertain.   
  
"And to negociate the terms of this agreement, we will have to meet on neutral ground," Raziel added, and paused for effect. "Your grounds." He smiled triumphantly.   
  
"Here? But... I don't have any... Who would come?" He stammered.   
  
"I'll invite everyone. I think all the clans should be present for something as important as this, don't you?"   
  
"Zephon might not want to come," Melchiah said darkly.   
  
"I'll make him." Raziel smiled with complete confidence. "Don't worry about the guests, I'll do the invitations. You just make sure that you're ready to receive them. You can show them all what you've been up to. Remind them why -- why we respect you."   
  
Melchiah smiled a slightly lopsided smile. "I ... would like that," he said slowly. "I would like that very much."   
  
Raziel nodded. He knew his brother well enough to understand.   
  
"I do miss you." Melchiah shrugged helplessly. "I miss them all."   
  
Raziel put his hands on his shoulders. "Maybe this can bring us all a little closer again." 


	8. Games

THE GATHERING: VIII --STRANGE GAMES   
  
The Silenced Cathedral loomed on the horizon, set aflame by the setting sun. Raziel looked out over the blasted land surrounding it. He travelled to the East on his own; he did not want to do his brother the honour of sending a full delegation, and he needed to talk to him personally. He wondered how much trouble the Sweet Lord of Mercy would be. Zephon could be very awkward, if he wanted to. Raziel marched on; the keep was still distant. Night would have fallen before he arrived.   
  
The gate was closed, two guards stood outside. Their mortal scent carried on the wind, and Raziel shook his head to himself. How any of his brothers could stand the stench of their mortal slaves he never knew.   
  
"Who goes there?" one of the men demanded as he was still approaching the bridge over the moat.   
  
"Raziel," he answered.   
  
"Raziel who?" came the exasperating reply.   
  
"Raziel, son of Kain, now open the gate!" He stood right in front of them, but in the half-dark they still seemed uncertain. One of the men squinted at him, while Raziel tried very hard not to lose his patience.   
  
"Lord Raziel! Er... my apologies," the man stammered, when the truth finally dawned on him. "Open the gate," he yelled up into the night sky. The gate slowly rattled open. "My Lord, please, how can I... You must understand, in these parts..." he stumbled through his apologies, leading Raziel through the hallways until one of his vampire masters approached them.   
  
"Anatol, who is our guest?" he asked sharply. Raziel regarded him, silently. He was wearing leather trousers, dyed blood red, and a sword strapped to his back.   
  
"This is Raziel -- of Kain. He er... He wanted... " the mortal stared at him blankly.   
  
Raziel turned to the vampire. "Take me to your master before I lose my patience, please," he said with a long-suffering expression.   
  
The vampire was taken aback. "Lord Raziel, yes, of course. I apologise, these mortals -- they know nothing of anything."   
  
"Evidently not," Raziel agreed. Visiting Zephon always seemed to wear him out. This time, he felt tired before he had even spoken a single word to him.   
  
His guide asked him to wait in a narrow hallway. It had windows that were barely wider than arrow slits, and little else to distinguish it. The door the man had gone through was not closed entirely, and Raziel could hear his brother's sharp voice quite clearly.   
  
"Raziel? What does he want?"   
  
He decided that was close enough to "come in" and he swung open the door.   
  
"Can't one simply wish to visit his brother?" he asked as he stepped in. The tableau presented to him in the room stopped him dead on the threshold. Zephon was stood next to a naked mortal; the man's arms were outstretched and chained to a horizontal metal bar, his ankles shackled together and to the wall behind him. His chest, shoulders and abdomen were completely covered in little cuts, scabs and scars. On a tray beside him was an astounding collection of small blades, spikes and other torture instruments. Yet, this did not seem to be an interrogation session; the room was windowless but well-lit, with tapestries on the walls and a bed on one end. Raziel feared this was Zephon's private chamber. The young man chained to the wall was handsome and strong; he looked at Raziel with wide but willful eyes.   
  
"No," Zephon said bluntly. "You have never simply wished to simply visit me before, and I'm sure you have a purpose now. What is it?" He ordered the other man to leave with a swift flick of the wrist, and the door closed quietly behind him.   
  
"Zephon, my brother, I am happy to see you too," Raziel said sarcastically.   
  
Zephon grinned the way sharks would grin if they could. "Raziel, forgive me. I'm being a terrible host!" He reached out and grabbed a small metal chalice. He turned to the young mortal and cut a new, deep gash into his chest with a scalpel, drawing the blood out and into the cup. The youth squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, but made no sound. Raziel noticed to his dismay that he was showing the first signs of arousal. He wondered what his sibling could have done to the poor man to get that sort of response.   
  
Zephon bowed deeply, and offered him the full cup. "Welcome to my keep, dear brother, I hope your stay here will bring you pleasure and satisfaction." His forced smile vanished in an instant and his eyes grew hard. "Now, what do you want?"   
  
Raziel hid his smile behind the cup of blood and took a sip. It was still warm and quite delicious. "I am here to extend an official invitation to you, Zephon, and as many of your entourage as you wish to bring. Clan Rahab and clan Raziel have finally come to a peace treaty. We wish to share and celebrate this joyous occasion with all of our brethren." He bowed briefly, and drained the cup.   
  
"I see," Zephon said, musing. "First you take out his army in an 'accident', then you force him to a peace treaty. Sound strategy, although I still think the sacrifice you made was larger than necessary..."   
  
Raziel ignored him. "On the fifth night of the new month, our clans will gather in the keep of our host Melchiah, to reinforce our agreement and make it known to the world at large."   
  
"Melchiah?" Zephon asked as if Raziel had mentioned the lower bowels of hell. "I am not going there. Melchiah and I have an unresolved conflict. As you well know," he added, pointing his scalpel at Raziel.   
  
"Oh, not that," said Raziel. "When will you finally decide to let that lie, Zephon? It's over five decades ago and she was only human!"   
  
Zephon had turned around to his tray of torture-instruments. "It is barely two decades ago, and I was training her for a very specific purpose," he hissed.   
  
"You were using her as a spy, Zephon," Raziel exclaimed. Zephon turned round as if he was bitten. "Melchiah did nothing that I wouldn't have done," Raziel added. Zephon's lips split into a snarl, and he tried to stare his brother down. Raziel, however, was unperturbed and calmly held his gaze. "Melchiah wants a reconciliation with you most of all," he said finally. "He is reaching out his hand to you. This is your chance to be bigger than your petty squabbles. Allow him to pay you compensation for your loss and then forgive him!"   
  
Zephon grunted. "I'll think on it," he said and turned back to his prisoner. Slowly, almost lovingly, he began to cut shallow lines and figures into the man's chest. The mortal grimaced and teared up, but was still perfectly quiet.   
  
"Frankly, Zephon, I should think the others would be rather disappointed to find you would not show," Raziel started. Zephon made no sign, but Raziel knew he had his attention. "All the others will attend, and since we've not seen each other for a long time I imagine we'll have much to discuss." He waited as Zephon traced a loose spiral in the man's side. Zephon shrugged almost inperceptably. Raziel left the metaphorical carrot for what it was, and turned to the stick. "I fear they might not understand -- that you chose not to come over that old grudge you hold against Melchiah. I _think_ they all remember how slight the injury was, and on a night of peaceful reunions, it might seem... unfair. Inappropriate. Unacceptable, perhaps." He paused. Zephon listened, he'd stopped torturing for the moment. "I don't know how I could defend you, Zephon." Raziel continued. "You have not shown yourself to be very brotherly, of late. If _someone_ were to suggest a move against you, I'm not certain I could advise against it."   
  
Zephon snapped 'round. "Enough!" he screamed. "That tongue of yours is poison, Raziel."   
  
"It speaks only the truth, Zephon," Raziel answered calmly.   
  
Zephon snarled. "Very well," he said finally, "tell Melchiah I will accept his outreached hand, as you call it. But between you and me, it better not be empty!"   
  
"Of course not," Raziel nodded.   
  
Zephon turned back to his work. "Will Kain be attending?" he asked as if the answer was only of passing interest to him.   
  
"I certainly mean to invite him," Raziel said, suddenly treading on dangerous grounds again.. "I can't imagine why he would decline."   
  
Zephon's face cracked into a sly smile. "Can't you?" he asked. "The power of your imagination is failing you then, brother."   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
Zephon pretended to study the tip of his scalpel. "Something troubles our Master, I can tell you that much. He worries and frets. He has been seen wandering the ruins of Willendorf, the hinterlands, and even the wastelands of the north, or so I hear. If I didn't know any better, I would say the old man is losing his mind."   
  
"If the 'old man' heard you he'd rip out your tongue!" Raziel said angrily. Zephon merely smiled. Without taking his eyes off Raziel, he dipped his hand into one of the pottery bowls that was on the tray, and took out a handful of fine white grains. Salt. With a wide grin, the sprinkled it over the young mortal's chest and rubbed it into his wounds. The man hissed between his teeth and then, finally, cried out in pain. Zephon stopped immediately.   
  
"Och, and you were doing so well," he said mockingly. "Now we shall have to start all the way from the beginning!"   
  
The youth sobbed and shook his head. "No, please..."   
  
Zephon made a short, abrupt sound and lay one claw on the young man's lips. "Shhh."   
  
The young man choked back his sobs. Tears ran down his face. Zephon turned to Raziel with a devious smile on his lips.   
  
"Maybe, if you find him, you could tell him what I said," he suggested.   
  
Raziel shook his head, disgusted. "Such strange games you play, Zephon." There was a silence. Zephon's smile was failing, but his eyes were defiant. Raziel continued, eager to end this meeting. "Very well. I will convey your message to Melchiah, and I will look forward to seeing you on the fifth," Raziel said. Zephon bowed. "Good night, Zephon." He turned to leave.   
  
"Good night, Raziel," Zephon sang in reply. As Raziel closed the door behind him, he could not suppress a shudder.   
  
One night, he thought, you'll be caught in your own nets, and then who will hear you scream? 


	9. Chess

IXCHESS  
  
Rahab was let in to a small room, where he found Dumah playing a game of chess with Turel. He was surprised, he did not expect Turel to be here, and wondered if it was a strange coincidence, or if he often came to call here. In the past, Dumah and Turel had been close. Dumah looked up and nodded at him; Turel seemed engrossed by the game. Rahab walked over and studied the board. He turned to Turel.  
  
"You're in trouble."   
  
Turel grunted.  
  
"Sit down, Rahab," Dumah offered. He took a third metal cup, filled it with blood from the jug at his side, and offered it to Rahab. Turel took a pawn between two long, curved claws and moved it forward. Rahab wondered if the move was part of a brilliant plan, or a sign of despair. Dumah fell to pondering the same question.   
  
"So are you," Turel said. "I hear you lost three quarters of your standing army." Rahab nodded. Dumah moved his knight. Turel's face fell.  
  
"I suppose you are here to ask for my assistance?" Dumah asked.  
  
"No, I don't need assistance, Dumah. Although I value the offer," Rahab said graciously. Turel frowned at the board. He was playing black, and Dumah had him almost completely locked down. In the end, he sacrificed a bishop to take the knight. "I am here to invite you -- both of you -- to a celebration," Rahab continued. "The conflict between my clan and Raziel's has gotten badly out of hand. We've decided to put a definitive end to it. We're celebrating the end of the war together, and would like you to be present, too."   
  
"You've made peace with him?" Turel asked. Dumah took the bishop, and Turel returned to his pondering.  
  
"Only thing for it, I suppose," Dumah said cheerlessly. "Were his terms reasonable?"  
  
"The terms were very reasonable on both sides," Rahab corrected him. "The contested villages now fall within his territory. In return, all the western towns will help relieve the starvation in the far south, and he is sending me fifty of his own men to help with the defence of my keep."  
  
"You're inviting the enemy into your own home?" Dumah asked, incredulous. "How could you agree to that?"  
  
"Actually, it was my idea," Rahab said, bristling. "I need those men. I cannot replenish my ranks fast enough, and there's trouble stirring in my lands. A rebellion that needs to be crushed." He bit his lip. That rebellion was more like a hiccup in the villages closest to the southern swamps, and he planned to carefully take out the leaders rather than crushing it. He was trying to speak in terms his brother would understand, the way Raziel always did. It felt much like lying.   
  
"You could have come to me," Dumah grumbled.  
  
"And invite your rabble into my home instead? No, thank you, I'd rather put up with the Razielim." He answered in a moment of blinding honesty.   
  
Turel burst into laughter. Dumah gave him a withering stare, but that only shut him up for a moment. His laugh was high-pitched and rhythmic, almost like an animal call. Rahab found it more than a little disturbing.   
  
"I'm sorry, Dumah, I was only joking," he said. "Your men a brave warriors..."  
  
"-- but they do smell!" Turel added, and laughed again. Heeheehee...  
  
Rahab studied the chess-board for a moment, then indicated one of Turel's rooks. Turel stopped laughing.   
  
"The pawn, you mean?" he asked.   
  
"Of course."   
  
Turel took the pawn. Dumah raised an eyebrow.  
  
"So, this gathering will be at your keep?" Turel asked.   
  
"No, at Melchiah's."  
  
"Melchiah's?" Dumah exclaimed, snapped out of the game by this revelation.   
  
"He was instrumental in the negotiations," Rahab explained coldly. "In addition, we wanted to have the celebration on neutral ground. There is no victor in this, it is simply an agreement."  
  
Dumah snorted. "Yes, that sounds like Melchiah all right."   
  
Rahab looked to Turel, but he merely rolled his eyes.   
  
"I don't know, Rahab," Dumah said. "It is a long road to travel. I do not wish to leave my keep undefended for long." He pushed a pawn forward with one finger.  
  
"It is not much farther than the sanctuary, Dumah," Rahab said reasonably. "And who is going to attack your keep in that short a space?" Turel grinned a toothy grin.   
  
"Who else?" Dumah said bleakly. They all turned to the chessboard again.   
  
Rahab felt a familiar sense of despair gnawing on the edges of his soul. He thought of the many cracks of conflict that threatened their council. Raziel and him. Zephon and Melchiah. Melchiah and Dumah, Dumah and Turel... With every tear they mended, it seemed another one formed. If they could not even stand to be in the same place anymore, then it seemed this attempt to bring them closer together was merely one of Raziel's delusions. Raziel's puppet-play, in which he was happily playing the fool. Turel moved his queen halfway across the board. Dumah snorted, and moved a pawn in her way. They exchanged a few moves in utter silence; Dumah's carefully built up attack began to fall apart. Rahab felt weary, and disillusioned with Raziel's meddling.  
  
"Raziel has this idea," he said, "that if he can just get us all together, celebrating rather than arguing, that it might bring us closer together again. Reunite the clans. Somehow return us to the time when we all cried 'for Kain' as we plunged into battle."   
  
There was a silence. Turel's lips formed the words 'for Kain' silently. Dumah took the black queen. Turel frowned, but Rahab knew he could win. He would win, had he been playing.  
  
"Will Kain be there?" Dumah asked.  
  
"Yes, unless matters of greater import detain him," Rahab answered. Dumah and Turel seemed to exchange a meaningful glance. Turel moved his knight forward. Smart, though not the best option.  
  
"He has been detained by grave matters a lot, of late," Turel said, leaning back and taking a sip from his cup. "What about Zephon? Did he not swear that he would rather take out his eyes with a fork than ever spend another minute in Melchiah's presence?"  
  
"Apparently, Raziel made him change his mind," Rahab said dryly.   
  
Dumah took the knight. A mistake. "Zephon's feelings have always been for sale," he said. "I wonder what Raziel offered."   
  
Turel closed in on the queen. "Well I can venture a guess." He grinned and ran the tip of his tongue along one of his fangs.   
  
Dumah sniggered. He moved his bishop a single space. "Check."  
  
"I doubt it," Rahab said. "Raziel has always been very jealous of his blood. I hear even his children only get a mouthful at birth."   
  
Dumah grinned. "An eternal shame, that. His blood is the sweetest, most powerful thing you'll ever taste."  
  
"Is that so?" Turel asked, moving his king out of danger.   
  
"Absolutely. It's like an angel came down from heaven and kissed you on the tongue," Dumah said and downed his cup. "He is simply delicious." His tongue lingered on the last word, as if he was still savouring the taste.  
  
"Well, you would know," Rahab said. From the corner of his eye, he could see a sly smile on Turel's face. "You had him at your mercy, once."   
  
Turel winked. "And God forbid you'd let us forget!"   
  
Dumah boldly moved his queen forward. "Come on, admit, it was satisfying to see the princeling take a fall for once!"   
  
Turel laughed, and shifted his rook. He barely seemed to think about the move, but Rahab knew it was the right one.  
  
"Rare, and, yes, rather satisfying," Rahab admitted.   
  
Dumah frowned at Turel's rook. "He's quick, is Raziel. But fist to plain fist, he isn't all that strong," he said musingly. He leaned back, still frowning at the board. He seemed to realise what trap he'd walked into, but didn't yet see a way out.  
  
"I bet you couldn't take him again, though," said Turel.  
  
"How so?" Dumah asked. He took a pawn with his remaining knight. This might work, though Rahab knew it wouldn't.   
  
"Have you seen him lately? The last few changes have really increased his physique. He's much stronger than he was." Turel took the queen. "Check."  
  
Dumah crossed his arms. "I can still take him. I've grown more powerful as well."  
  
"Yeah? What do you want to bet?" Turel asked.   
  
"That pretty young slave of yours," Dumah said, stroking his chin. He moved his bishop in the way. "I think she should be mine."  
  
"The sword."  
  
"Oh no, not ever. It's worth far more than that," Dumah exclaimed. Rahab looked from one to the other. Their eyes were sparking and both of them were smiling broadly. Turel took the bishop.  
  
"Marelda, five other slaves and six silver florins, against the sword."  
  
"It's a bet."  
  
"It's a bet." They reached over the table and grabbed each other's hands firmly. They settled down, and Rahab found himself chuckling. These two were unbelievable. Dumah stared at the game.  
  
"You've won." he said. He shrugged, and moved his rook.  
  
"I know," Turel answered and took the remaining knight, making it a check-mate.  
  
"Only because he was helping you," Dumah protested. Turel chuckled. "So when's this -- celebration?" Dumah asked.  
  
"Fifth after new moon," Rahab answered.   
  
"Plenty of time," Dumah nodded self-assuredly.  
  
The sky was turning pale when Turel left. Rahab had decided to stay the day; the sunlight would bother him on the way back and there was no rush to return. He accompanied Turel to the city gates.  
  
"Thanks for talking him 'round. I'm not certain I could have done it on my own."  
  
Turel nodded, smiling. He looked up at the fading stars as they entered the courtyard. "He wishes to reunite the clans, does he?"   
  
"It's a fool's wish if you ask me," Rahab said darkly. "He might as well try to plumb the depths of the abyss."  
  
"Perhaps. But if anyone could do it, it would be Raziel." He turned to his brother before passing the gate. "And if he wants to try, I'll be behind him every step of the way, fool or no." His face was, for once, utterly serious.  
  
Rahab managed a sad smile. "He's got a good one in you, Turel," he said, and embraced his brother before turning back to the city. 


	10. Preparations

XPREPARATION  
  
"How do I look?" She twirled around under Raziel's admiring eyes, froze, and looked at him from under her eyelashes. She always wore her beauty like a badge of honour, and would not be seen before she had preened herself properly, but tonight she had truly made a spectacle of herself. She had bound her soft, rich curls back into a tight ponytail, and she was wearing an outfit she'd had made especially for the occasion. It consisted of solid, metal-plated boots, black leather trousers that hugged her plump figure, and were laced up on both sides over her delicious hips. She wore a metal breast-plate that seemed designed to accentuate the softer parts of her anatomy rather than protect them. Her back was bare, the smooth silk of her skin only broken by the network of straps that held the breastplate in place, and the clan symbol, tatooed in loving detail between her shoulderblades. She wore spiked vambraces around her forearms and a whip of leather laces around her waist as a belt. The ends tapped against the skintight leather. She looked like a warrior, if warriors cared more about style than survival.   
  
"You look... radiant," Raziel said, and slowly walked towards her. He was wearing his ceremonial armour, the ornate shoulderguards and red cape, his chest bare, a ceremonial sword at his side. Dressed for state affairs, not for battle. He bent over slightly to plant a fatherly kiss on Adoile's forehead. "Positively... mouth-watering," he whispered. It was fair warning, but she still screamed in suprise when he snapped his head down to her neck to bite her.   
  
"Raziel!"   
  
He drank deeply, effortlessly drawing out her blood. She struggled, but Raziel pinned her arms. He was so much stronger. She could feel her strength being drained, the familiar burn of the hunger growing. She felt weak and helpless. To know he could drain her of her blood effortlessly if he wished, the thought that she was his to do with as he pleased, it was infuriating. Once again, he made her feel like a plaything, a mute slave as she kicked futilely against his shinguards. She blazed with anger, but mixed in with that, the helpless, choking love she felt for him burned ever stronger. Even if he killed her now, she would love him forever.  
  
Of course he let her go long before she died, and she dropped to the floor, feigning weakness.   
  
"Quite frankly... irresistable." He licked a last drop from the corner of his mouth.   
  
"That's no excuse to steal my blood," she pouted, and wiped her neck. He grinned. "I should steal it back," she yelled defiantly. Raziel opened his arms, welcoming her.   
  
"Go on. Try," he said and gestured for her to come closer. She jumped to her feet and flew at him, but he held her off without effort. He met every blow she aimed at him with a suitable parry; never giving her a chance even to touch him. Eventually, he opened his arms wide and embraced her, but when she bit his neck she only managed to hurt herself -- his alabaster skin was impenetrable. Laughing, he tossed her away, and she clattered to the floor once more. "Don't worry Adoile, there'll be enough to eat at the gathering, even for your weak little fangs," he said mockingly. He turned to the door.   
  
She swiftly got to her feet again and crept up behind him, closing her hand around the hilt of his sword. It hissed as she drew it from its scabbard; the steel was dark and serrated near the hilt. She held it in front of her with both hands, and he slowly turned around.   
  
"Perhaps I'll have more luck with this," she smiled. Raziel drew himself up to his full height, his eyes daring her to strike.   
  
She took a swing to his midriff, as fast and powerful as she could manage. He snapped his hand around the flat of the blade, and pulled it up and towards him, Adoile hurtling after it into his rising knee. She took it just below the lower edge of the breastplate and doubled over. He drove his elbow into her shoulder to finish it, and she fell to the floor, clutching her stomach. He tossed up the sword, caught it by the hilt and calmly resheathed it, while she lay panting at his feet.  
  
"Perhaps not," he observed drily, then turned to leave. "Come, my little warrioress. They are waiting for us."   
  
Grumbling, she got to her feet and padded after him.   
  
He was met in the hallway by Marius, the short, scrawny knight that had once been known as Mouse, and later, the Fearsome Mouse. His small stature belied his skill and passion with the sword. He had once, when he was still young, saved Raziel from being beheaded by a mortal knight, and had been an honoured member of the Razielim ever since. He had long since outgrown his nickname, but his warband was still known as the Mäuse.   
  
"The men are ready, Lord. They are gathered in the inner courtyard," Marius said. He was briefly distracted by Adoile's appearance, but soon turned back to Raziel.  
  
"Thank you, Marius." Raziel strode past his knight towards the courtyard.  
  
"My Lord? Are you certain there is no other way?" Marius asked.  
  
Raziel turned around.   
  
"I can see nothing but more trouble coming from this," Marius pleaded.   
  
"We have discussed this, Marius," Raziel said, sternly.  
  
"I know, Raziel. We have, but I fear for their lives! They will be all alone out there, they are leaderless. And regardless of how you luitenants feel about each other, your clans are at odds." He had reason to be worried. The fifty that were set to join Rahab's ranks largely consisted of his men, and included his two sons. All of them were young and inexperienced, some had not even been through the first changes. Raziel put a hand on Marius' shoulderguard.  
  
"Don't worry, Mouse. My brother has sworn to take good care of them," he said softly.   
  
Marius gave him a lopsided smile. He had lived long enough to know that Rahab was not truly their enemy, but a century of war had soured him against the Rahab clan. He had seen their viciousness in battle, and knew their hatred, for it was mirrored in the hatred among his own men. That said, he knew better than to doubt his Lord, and so he would do as he was asked, even if it meant sending his own sons out into the wilderness.  
  
The courtyard was crowded, the regiment of fledgelings was joined by those who would accompany Raziel to Melchiah's for the celebration, as well as many who were simply there to send off their brothers in arms or their children. All looked expectantly at the raised dais, where Rusanna and Axel stood, awaiting Raziel. They would accompany them tonight, like many others. Raziel climed the dais and stood in the centre, while Axel and Rusanna took up places at the back and to the sides of him. Adoile knelt just beside him, facing the crowd. It was a habit she'd gotten into, one that bespoke both humility and a certain arrogance. It irked Raziel, even though he knew it was one of the reasons she was so irresistable to him.   
  
Once, centuries ago, there had been a throne where he stood, but he had had it broken down. It had been a pompous construction carved out of stone for the mortal count who had been lord of this castle long before Raziel was raised. Raziel preferred to stand.  
  
Directly in front of the dais was the unusual army of fifty, all young soldiers. They all wore the same flowing capes of dark blue, Rahab's colour, and Raziel found it unsettling to see them in anything but red. It seemed they felt the same way, for under the blue capes many wore the clan symbol clearly visible. They looked apprehensive and downcast. All of them had been in the battle for Darheim; Raziel was certain the one who started the fire was among them, even if he did not know exactly which it was. None had refused the service. They knew why they had been asked.   
  
And yet they now looked to him to explain. All his kin did, for anyone could understand that this move carried a great potential for disaster. They had been taught not to doubt their master, but in this, Raziel found he doubted himself. He knew Rahab needed men, and he knew he would do everything he could to prevent trouble, but he also knew how quickly things could get out of hand. Anyone can lead an army into battle, but to truly control your men is a different matter, as Kemuel had learned so late. The name left a sour taste in his mind and he put away his fear and doubts. The decision had been taken, and he would not go back on it.   
  
"My children," he began, and there was perfect silence in the courtyard for a moment. "You look good in blue."  
  
They chuckled; he heard Adoile's clear laugh beside him. It held a kind of malice he did not expect from her.  
  
"I don't want you to think that I am banishing you, that would be a misunderstanding. I am not angry with you. You are not demoted. This is not a punishment."  
  
He noticed Borah nodding gravely, but in the back two men exchanged a meaningful glance.  
  
"I thank you for your years of service. You will continue to serve me, only for the next fifty years that will mean serving my brother. I have Rahab's word that his clan will treat you well; you are not captives, you will be part of his own troops. If this is not the case, I wish to hear immediately." At this, he looked at Borah, who, being the eldest, had been assigned the position of primus inter pares. Borah nodded briefly. "Likewise, I expect you to be on your best behaviour. You will respect your elders, regardless of clan, you will follow orders and you will be loyal to your new master -- and to each other. Should you find these standards too difficult to meet, then you will not be returning here." He paused a moment to let this sink in. Many of them had their eyes cast down. This did not bode well.  
  
"Fifty years must seem like a long time to you, as some of you have not even lived that long yet. However, I assure you, when I welcome you all back here, in honour and with your red banners flying, you will wonder where the years have gone."  
  
The assurance was met with sad smiles and averted eyes.   
  
"And now, I send you off as agents of peace into the house of our former enemy, to represent our clan, and heal the wounds of war. Your task will not be easy, but I believe you will prevail, or I would not send you. Now go. Make me proud."  
  
There was an appreciative murmer, some of their honour salvaged by this send-off. Borah raised his polearm, and stomped on the ground three times; thump, thump, thump. "Raziel!" they said as one, raising a fist or a weapon. Raziel smiled, and bowed ever so slightly.  
  
"Thank you, children." 


	11. Gathering

XITHE GATHERING  
  
Melchiah looked out over the results of his hard work. In less than a month, his vision had become reality. The ruins of the round castle Westerburgh were reborn. The hand of time had taken all but its circular outer wall, which had been partially sunk into the ground by a long-dry river. Now, the first floor was filled with a steel construction, and one of the wide arched windows of what had once been the second floor functioned as the new gate. Melchiah's men had put in a new floor, an enormous ring made of wooden beams, turning slowly around the central staircase, now flattened and paved to be a still, raised dais looking out over the slowly circling floor. The vampire Marion was there now, instructing a group of young mortals all dressed in black robes with bright yellow sashes. They would carry around large metal cups of blood tonight, for all to share and partake.   
  
Melchiah himself stood on top of the ancient wall, high above the rotating floor. Against these uneven, broken walls they had set six flagpoles with banners in six colours. They were blowing in a strong wind, and Melchiah looked up at the sky. His unusual hall had no roof, and he had nowhere to take his guests if it should rain. It would not rain, he reminded himself. It had not rained here in over two months. And yet, he could not escape the feeling he had overlooked something; that something would go irredeemably wrong. They would all be here, except for Kain. What would they say? What would they think?  
  
With a shock, he recognised the figure that had appeared in the gate opposite. Raziel had arrived early. He was welcomed by Galen, his deputy, who showed him onto the turning platform. A large group of vampires poured in after them. Melchiah lowered himself onto the steel ladder that had taken him up here, and quickly climbed down to greet his elder brother.  
  
Soon after Raziel, Rahab arrived with his entourage, and then Zephon. Even Dumah and Turel arrived on time, in spite of the long journey they had to make. Long before midnight, the old ruins of Westerburgh were teeming with life, vampires of all six clans milling around, testing each other, rekindling old friendships and feuds. The slave-children walked among them, their goblets raised above their heads, inviting anyone and everyone to drink and celebrate. After each revolution of the floor they returned to the arched window in the back where the cups were refilled from seemingly bottomless barrels.   
  
Rahab watched the crowd uneasily. He was talking with some of Raziel's company, two of the older warriors who complimented him on the negotiating skills of his advisor Amadis and expressed their regret on the fire in Darheim. Rahab barely heared their words. He felt uncomfortably out of place. Melchiah's enormous machine created the impression that he was standing still, and that the old walls of the ruins, and indeed, all of Nosgoth, turned around them. He knew this to be an illusion, and yet he could not escape the feeling. The soft rumble of the machinery beneath their feet sounded like distant thunder, and the miriads of voices shouting, laughing and boasting around him seeemed to form one nightmarish cloud of noise. He nodded gratefully at the short vampire in front of him, guessing he had said something appreciative. Some distance away he could see Zephon, leaning possessively on a young mortal man; one of the four slaves Melchiah had offered him. He grinned unpleasantly at Rahab when he noticed him watching. Rahab nodded, and turned back to the two in front of him.   
  
"Where is Raziel?" he asked, and just then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Raziel was flanked by his body-guard Axel on one side and his servant girl on the other.   
  
"It's time," he said, grinning widely. He did not seem bothered in the least by this unsettling environment. Rahab followed him to the waist-high stage in the center of the hall; the only thing in the room that wasn't turning. They climbed onto it, and Rahab felt disorientated for a moment, as the illusion of standing still was replaced by the reality of having the room turning around him. He stood beside Raziel, shoulder to shoulder. He raised his hands for silence, and soon enough the din receded. He waited patiently until the entire assembly was quiet. Even the Turelim looked up at the platform silently and expectantly -- unusual, for their grasp of the concept of authority was generally tenuous. When the only sound was the distant rumble of the machinery below, he started to speak.  
  
He repeated the terms of the peace treaty, and the reasons behind them, while the crowd revolved around him. It was a seemingly endless procession, their faces drawn in anger, fear, malice. As he pronounced the assertion that the Razielim and Rahabim would have nothing to fear from each other in the future, it suddenly occurred to him how many of them had come here bearing arms, how many wore armour. The desire for vengeance, for battle, for dominance hung like a vapour over all of them -- and why should it not? Were they not all Kain's children?   
  
The treaty, this gathering -- it was all a lie. A damned lie, and surely, Raziel knew. Perhaps they all did. No matter. If Raziel wanted him to lie, he would: for his brother, for what they were, once, before everything began to fall apart.   
  
"Anyone breaking the terms of this treaty will be considered an enemy of clan Rahab and clan Raziel," he closed. "Together, we will be stronger than ever before. I trust we can count on all of you." If nothing else, this might give the herd some short years of relative safety. Perhaps they would recover.  
  
He looked over his left shoulder, where Raziel stood, smiling proudly. He stepped forward and took the word.  
  
"Children of Rahab!" His voice rang out clearly, effortlessly reaching even those in the back. "My own clan, clan of Dumah! Turelim, Melchahim, spawn of Zephon!" Complete silence for a heartbeat, before he continued. "Does it matter? Are you all so very different that you cannot share the bounty of Nosgoth without clawing out each other's hearts?" He paused, and watched them as they glanced around and chuckled guiltily. It was a large crowd, at least twice as big as his entire clan.   
  
"Forgive me, but seeing you all drinking, talking and enjoying yourselves together here tonight makes me think you can." Adoile's smiling face passed by. She was stood just at the edge of the turning platform, close by as always. Axel stood behind her, he nodded when Raziel met his eyes. "Nosgoth is a vast place, my kinsmen, and full of riches of all kinds. If we can share them, rather than slaughtering each other over the smallest hamlet, there will be enough for all you monstrous, bloodsucking fiends!" They laughed, and he laughed along. "And so this war is over," he said decisively, and raised a hand for them to quiet down again. He lowered his tone. "I will let you in on a secret," he said, quite seriously. "There never was a war between clans. After all, there is but one clan." A few faces frowned. "Do we not all serve the same Master? Do we not all call the same man our sire?"   
  
He waited, stretching the silence as far as he dared, before giving an imperceptible sign.   
  
"Kain!" a voice shouted, somewhere in the crowd.   
  
"Kain," he answered, and repeated it. "Kain."   
  
The chant was picked up immediately, and spread throughout the crowd. "Kain, Kain, Kain," they shouted, punching the air and stomping their feet. He smiled broadly, unable to contain his pride. He'd done it. He had brought them here together, six clans, the six lieutenants. He could see Dumah shouting, although he could not make out his voice. Even Zephon's lips shaped the name of their master. Faster and faster; the chant turned onto a deafening racket that shook the ancient walls surrounding them.   
  
It died abruptly, just as Raziel's ears picked out another sound behind him. The sound of tiny fluttering wings. His face fell for a moment -- this was supposed to be his moment, and now Kain would steal it. But this tiny sting of jealousy vanished as soon as he felt that familiar, heavy hand on his shoulder. Kain met his eyes for a moment. Was that the trace of a smile in the corner of his mouth? He stepped forward, and Raziel and Rahab stood behind his shoulders.   
  
"My children," Kain started. All regarded him in a silence born of awe. Many of them had never seen Kain in person before. "It gladdens my heart to see you all gathered here, peacefully sharing drinks, dressed in silk and gold. It tells me the empire has not yet lost its shine. Centuries ago, when I set out to build a new empire upon the ruins of the past, and impose a new order -- my order -- upon the land of Nosgoth, I could not have guessed that it would one day be filled by a swarm of progeny as bountiful and powerful as you. Or, indeed, as loud," he added humourlessly and the crowd laughed. Raziel glanced at Rahab, who managed a smile. Kain reached out his hand, and robbed a surprised vampire in the front row of his cup. It flew through the air, and Kain's hand snapped around it effortlessly. Some of the contents spilled over the edge, but returned to the cup in defiance of the natural laws. "And why not?" Kain continued, "You are right to celebrate what you are, for you are as I made you, the true lords of Nosgoth! None but you shall inherit this festering world until the entirety slips into the abyss." He raised the cup in a toast. "So drink up, while there is time. I drink to you." He took a sip and a cheer rolled up from the crowd.   
  
Kain passed the goblet to Rahab, and vanished once again into a flock of bats. Rahab drank as well, and passed it on to Raziel. Raziel emptied the last drops, and tossed the metal cup far into the crowd, where it immediately caused a struggle. Rahab laughed and shook his head. It was a mirthless laugh, the laugh of a man who might as soon cry. Raziel himself felt chilled by Kain's speech, the despair for the future it voiced. It seemed Rahab was not alone in the darkness of his mind. Was Raziel's own hope really so misplaced? 


	12. Disputes

XIISETTLED DISPUTES  
  
Raziel pushed his way into the congratulating crowd, and was joined again by his own party; Adoile, Axel and Rusanna. Adoile embraced him in her enthusiasm, it seemed the dark undertone of Kain's speech had been lost on her. She showered him in praise, but much of her words was lost in the tumult. Suddenly, Turel appeared in front of him, laughing heartily. Turel always laughed easily, and Raziel was happy to meet him.  
  
"Good show, brother," Turel thundered in his ear as they embraced.   
  
Raziel chuckled. "I'm glad you approve."  
  
"Kain's blood! Of course I approve! This warmongery is madness; you were damned right to end it." He reached out and grabbed a full cup from one of the child-slaves. He drank deeply before offering it to Raziel. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, "I'm up for a good fight any night, but you in the south were turning bitter, and that will never do. It's just like you said. One clan, one king. Damned right." He grabbed the cup back from Raziel and drank to that.  
  
"I had no idea you felt that strongly, Turel," Raziel said.   
  
"I do," Turel said, the grin fading from his face for a moment. "Our allegiance lies with Kain, always. Not just mine, yours, but that of any of this rabble." His hand swept in a wide arc to indicate the crowd. Adoile dodged the blow only just in time, and stared at him indignantly, but Turel never noticed. "But we also owe allegiance to each other, Raziel. In times of trouble we must be free to call on each other for aid."  
  
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Turel," Raziel said, surprised. "You of all of us. I was afraid you would not see the need for cooperation."  
  
"These are hard times for every clan, Raziel," Turel said solemnly. "My herds are moving away, the hunt takes my people further and further from home. There will be scarcity for all of us the coming decades, and the worst thing we can do now is fight each other over what we have left. If we ration and share, we can all pull through."  
  
"Ah, so that's it," Raziel laughed. "It's my cellars you're after!"  
  
"Well, yes," Turel admitted and laughed heartily. Then he took hold of both Raziel's shoulders and looked at him imploringly. "Raziel..."  
  
"Raziel!" a thundering voice interrupted him. Dumah grabbed Raziel by the arm and embraced him roughly. Raziel was surprised at how much Dumah's stature had grown; the embrace pressed his face against his shoulderguard. Behind him, he heard Turel laugh again.   
  
"Raziel, I have to congratulate you," Dumah said. "Not only did you crush Rahab, you made him sit up and thank you for it." He grinned maliciously. "You're a cunning snake aren't you?"  
  
"Dumah! I did not make Rahab do anything," Raziel said, dismayed. "This treaty is meant to ensure we both get what we want."   
  
Dumah laughed. "Ha, awfully convenient that Rahab wanted an invading army from you!"  
  
"Dumah, you don't understand! I..."  
  
"-- Are you saying I'm stupid?" Dumah interrupted, tapping Raziel on the chest briefly.  
  
"No!"  
  
"-- I'm on to you, little brother. Are you denying you're the one who set this whole thing up?" He swept his massive hands up to the ruined walls around them and stared at Raziel with wild eyes.  
  
"Dumah, why are you picking a fight with me?"   
  
"Oh, so you want to fight, huh?" Dumah thundered, making sure everyone around them could hear. Raziel noticed the twinkle in his eyes. "All right, let's have it out then," he grabbed Raziel by the shoulder and shoved him into the direction of the stage. "Up there!"  
  
It dawned on Raziel that a fight was all Dumah was after, for whatever reason. He had no desire to fight his brother, but he had never walked away from any battle, and was not about to do so now. He hopped onto the stage and flicked his shouldercape back over the guard, to have both his hands free.   
  
"All right, off with the sword, little peace-monger," Dumah said pointing at his side. "Let's make sure this remains a clean fight."  
  
Raziel snarled at the implied insult and undid the belt around his waist. Inwardly though, he was laughing. Trust Dumah to set up a thing like this. He never could stand to be second, and now, with Raziel's success, he felt the need to reassert his own importance. Raziel hoped he would not also gain the satisfaction of winning, but he could not be sure. Dumah was a fearsome warrior. He tossed the sheathed sword to Adoile, who once again stood at the very edge of the revolving floor. She caught it and clunked it against her breastplate, a look of determination and pride on her face. "Get him, Raziel!" she yelled. Dumah laughed.  
  
"Is that your second-in-command?" he taunted. "Oh no, save us from the mighty Razielim warriors! Ring the alarm, it's Raziel and his army of girls!"  
  
Raziel knew it would have been wiser to await Dumah's attack, but he could not let that insult lie. He dashed at his brother, staying close to the ground and directing a blow at his midriff. Dumah blocked the slash, and the follow up, and swung his claws down at Raziel's head. Raziel had anticipated it and tried to slip around Dumah, but the blow still scraped his shoulder. It staggered him, and he jumped back to avoid another swipe aimed at his chest. He knew he could not have blocked that if he'd tried. Dumah's strength was monstrous.   
  
Dumah advanced, keeping up a string of hard and fast attacks. Raziel managed to stay just out of his reach every time, but Dumah knew he would reach the edge of the platform soon enough. Raziel realised this too, and charged. Dumah met him with a straight thrust, but he ducked just under his claw, and Dumah got his knee up to block the swipe aimed at his side. Dumah spun around -- the little devil was so quick -- and warded off another flurry of attacks. When Raziel jumped at him again he took his chance and planted a fist square into his chest, knocking him flying. Raziel's claws missed the side of his face by a hair.   
  
Raziel landed on his back, close to the roaring crowd. He did not have time to recognise their faces. He kipped back to his feet and met Dumah again in the middle of the stage. He knew he could not break the momentum of Dumah's strongest blows, but he could at least see them coming. He leapt back to avoid a swipe from Dumah's right hand, and immediately closed the gap again to attack Dumah's now exposed side. But Dumah was already out of the way. Instead of his unprotected side, Raziel's claws met a corner of Dumah's cape. Raziel grabbed on and pulled, throwing all his momentum into trying to pull Dumah off balance. Instead, the cape ripped and tore into two pieces. He backflipped out of Dumah's reach and held up the scrap of fabric. The crowd cheered, and Dumah roared.   
  
"You will pay for that, brother!" He rushed at Raziel again, and this time, Raziel didn't dodge quickly enough. He caught the blow aimed at his chest square in the face, and stumbled back, clamping one hand to his bloodied face and the other up in front of him in a plea for a moment's respite. Dumah held up his claw and slowly licked the blood from his second finger. Below the high-pitched cheering around him he heard a familiar roar, "Dumaaahr!"   
  
Rahab stood, unmoved, in the midst of the din, watching the fight with amusement. A deep voice suddenly sounded near his ear.   
  
"Tell me, Rahab, why is it that Raziel and Dumah are rolling around like a pair of fledgelings?"   
  
Rahab smiled. "I believe it's for old time's sake, my Lord," he called over his shoulder. "Something about an old debt."  
  
Kain snorted. The crowd roared again, Dumah had knocked Raziel up into the air with a blow to the stomach, and Raziel landed crashed down on the unforgiving paving stones once more. He curled up in pain. Dumah raised his bloodied fist, taking his time to drink in the cheers.  
  
Raziel rolled up into a crouch and looked at Dumah, who was a couple of paces away. They stared each other down for a moment. Raziel knew that if he was going to win this it would have to be soon. Dumah was far more powerful, and now that he was getting worn down, Raziel was losing speed. He jumped to his feet and Dumah charged him. Raziel rolled under his blow at the last moment, reversed his momentum with all the strength he could muster and kicked Dumah in the back. This was enough to send Dumah hurtling into the crowd, where he was caught by many hands to keep him from falling amidst them. Dumah struggled for a moment to get free and back to his feet, as the ground turned away from under him. It was all Raziel needed.   
  
He pounced on Dumah, stabbing the claws of his right hand down into the side of his neck. His teeth followed immediately, biting down on the wound already opened. He tasted Dumah's dark, bitter blood on his tongue and knew that he had won. He drew it out for a moment before he pulled back, ripping the would open further. A spray of blood arched through the air and splattered the first rows of spectators. He walked backwards to the center stage, one hand raised in the air. The noise was deafening, drowning out any intelligible sound. Dumah got to his feet and turned around. He spread his arms and shrugged his shoulders, acknowledging Raziel's victory.   
  
"In the back, brother..." he shouted over the din and shook his head. The cry "Raziel" was faintly audible among the general cheer. It was stronger the second time, and the third time Raziel was certain it was not just his own men. Dumah bowed slightly. "Very well, I bow to your superior... cunning!" he said, and Raziel laughed. He grabbed his brother's hand and embraced him.  
  
"Maybe we should do that again sometime," he said. Dumah nodded, smirking.   
  
"You know you can't always --" he stopped abruptly, looking at something over Raziel's shoulder.   
  
Raziel spun around, and recognised with a shock the white-haired figure standing in front of the slowly turning crowd.  
  
"If the two of you are quite finished," Kain sneered. The crowd had fallen quiet. "I wish to have a word with you, Raziel."   
  
Raziel nodded briefly, and followed his Lord. The crowd parted respectfully as they walked together to the outer wall. Kain stopped and indicated the steel ladder secured to the ancient brickwork. Melchiah's machine was turning them towards it slowly. Without another word, Kain closed one hand over the other and vanished with a flash of light. Raziel was momentarily confused, but spotted him on top of the wall. Grumbling, he grabbed the ladder as it came past and started to climb. Kain hated ladders, but apparently he had no qualms about making others deal with them. He wondered what the Master would want to talk to him about. Had he done the wrong thing again? It seemed that no matter what he did, it served to aggravate Kain further. 


	13. Kain

XIIIKAIN  
  
He reached the top of the wall and looked around for a moment, mesmerised by the view. On one side, the lands of Nosgoth stretched far away; he could see the southern swamps, bathed in moonlight and a heavy fog. On the other side, the mad swirl of the gathering, continuously moving, swarming around the empty centre, the cacophony of voices ringing up into the sky. It occured to Raziel that Kain might well have been up here all evening, watching unnoticed. Kain stood a few paces away, staring down at his offspring with a look of distaste.   
  
"Look at them, Raziel." He kept his eyes on the crowd, his voice sounded weary. "Have a look at your work. It was you that brought them here, your careful coaxing and wheedling. Look!" Raziel looked, but he could not be sure it wasn't simply to avoid meeting Kain's eye. "The Lords of Nosgoth," Kain mocked. "To think that they are this dying world's only hope! Without you they would be utterly doomed." Raziel looked up, uncertain whether his Master's words were meant to praise or damn him. Kain sighed. "Yes, it will be you, Raziel," he muttred.   
  
"My Lord...?" Raziel tried, carefully. Kain looked up, distracted for a moment as if he had forgotten Raziel was there at all. The weariness in his eyes chilled Raziel to the bone. "Do I... disappoint you?" he asked.  
  
Kain grimaced. "No, Raziel." He stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "On the contrary, you surpass my expectations at every turn."  
  
"Then... what?"   
  
Kain indicated the circling crowd below with a languid swipe. "Look at them, Raziel. Look at them turning their useless circles, oblivious to the fact that it takes them nowhere but where they were before. They understand nothing. Without you, they haven't got a chance."   
  
Raziel carefully took in every word, trying to understand Kain's riddles.  
  
"They care nought for the unforgiving future. Certainly, they are happy to share Nosgoth now, here, where blood is plentiful and only ever an arm's reach away. But when the bloodflow stops, do you think it would take them more than a moment before they would turn on each other as deadly foes once more? And do you believe that can be avoided, in a world where nothing will grow?"  
  
Raziel cast his eyes down. In his heart, he knew his Lord was right. A deep sense of regret overwhelmed him, regret for the world that seemed here to lie at his feet. "You think me a fool," he said softly.  
  
"I know you are no fool, Raziel," Kain answered. "Nosgoth is only sinking ever-further into corruption and decay, however. There is nothing you can do to stop it. When simple survival is at steak -- and it will be -- the clans will turn to bitter wars. Even your council is doomed to mortal conflict."  
  
"But must we simply give up then?" Raziel cried. "Must we stand idly by while everything we ever believed in dwindles and fades away?" A sense of grief overwhelmed him; he had grown so skillful in ignoring the future, he could not bare to face it now.  
  
"No, Raziel." Kain grabbed hold of his shoulders. "We must not. How could we give up? However hopeless our situation is, no matter how infinitesimal our chance of success, we must try!"  
  
"Yes," Raziel nodded. Suddenly, Kain released him and turned away. He looked up at the dark night sky, and balled his fist. Raziel could sense Kain's anger and grief, and felt his own soul answering it.  
  
Kain turned around again, an intense look in his eyes. "Promise me one thing, Raziel."  
  
"Anything," Raziel answered.  
  
"Whatever happens, I need you to stay true to yourself, and your own ideals. Take no one's council but your own, Raziel; you alone know where your path must lead."  
  
Raziel was taken aback by this strange admonition. A sickening idea began to take root in his head. "I promise," he said, voicelessly.   
  
Kain stared out over the slowly revolving crowd, a pensive expression on his face. Fragments of earlier conversations returned to Raziel, seen now in a different light. It will be you, Raziel, Kain had whispered to the night sky. Without you, they haven't got a chance. And what had he just told his progeny? Only you will inherit this world... Who were they to inherit it from, if not --  
  
Another memory forced itself on him. His wild-eyed kinsman, Stahl, raving in his madness: I have seen Kain die! The voice rang in his head and Raziel felt the blood freeze in his veins. He was unable to breathe, unable to think the unthinkable...  
  
Kain sank to his knee, as if the weight on his shoulders was too much to bear up any longer. Raziel stood behind his shoulder; his eyes lingered on the small carved skull of the Soul Reaver, staring callously out at the world from its empty sockets. He found his hand hovering near the hilt, as if it wanted to stroke its smooth grip. He put the hand down on Kain's bare shoulder.  
  
"Lord," he began. Kain turned his head towards him slightly, but made no answer. Raziel felt as if his heart would break. He could not bring himself to ask, but he knew there was no need to. He knew now what Kain had tried to say, understood his pain and rage, even if he did not understand how this could be. What could possibly happen that Kain would -- Whatever happens...   
  
"Father," he whispered, "I will not let you down."   
  
Kain nodded grimly, his eyes fixed on the slowly turning wheel below. 


End file.
